Frozen Out
by Sparky Dorian
Summary: Our favorite White Collar Crime Unit takes on a normal, boring embezzlement fraud case. But with Neal Caffrey involved, it won't stay boring for long. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

Monday

Beep... Beep... Beep...

A fair-haired nurse adjusted an IV drip in a quiet hospital room, eyeing the patient in the bed curiously. He was very handsome- she could see that even under the scattered bruises and bandage. But there was something in his face that spoke of both intelligence and conflict, even in unconsciousness. So far no one had been to visit him. She wondered why.

"Miranda," one of the interns said as she walked in. "Can you look at this for me?"

"Sure, Lily," she replied, stepping over. Lily's friend Aliya walked in behind her, carrying some books.

"I'm sorry to bother you about it," Lily said, "but we really don't understand it and we need to be able to to pass the test tomorrow. You're, like, a math genius."

"It's no trouble," Miranda reassured her. She read over the page and briefly explained it to her young friends.

"Oh," Lily said, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Miranda said with a smile. Lily peered over her shoulder at the hospital bed.

"Who's the patient?" Aliya asked interestedly. "He's hot- if I'm allowed to say that."

"I don't know," Miranda said with a slight smile at the girl. She turned her head back. "They said he's in a coma. No one's been in yet."

"That's strange. What's his name?" Lily asked. Miranda shook her head.

"We don't know," she repeated. "So far no one's turned up matching his description."

"Hm..." Aliya looked thoughtful. "He looks like a Nick."

Miranda grinned at the two girls as they waved at her.

"Thanks so much," Lily said. "We gotta go. My boyfriend's picking us up in ten."

"You're welcome," Miranda said absently, lingering next to the hospital bed for another moment. The name did seem to fit him in a way.

"Where're your friends, Nick?" She murmured.

_A/N: And so begins the newest adventure of Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke. I have it all written already, it's about 23000 words long! So you can expect regular updates. Also, to those who were wondering about the Young Neal and Mozzie arc, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, but you will be seeing more of it eventually. Please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

_One Week Earlier_

It was a beautiful, late fall day. Peter rose early and readied himself for the day, kissing Elizabeth goodbye.

"Love you," he said.

"Love you too."

"I'll see you tonight for dinner," Peter promised.

"Okay, honey. Have a good day." He got into his car and started the familiar drive to June's mansion. He pulled up to see Neal already outside in the cold morning air, sitting on the stone fence and fidgeting slightly.

"Morning, Peter," Neal said with a cheerful nod as Peter rolled down the window.

"Morning. Get in, we've got a case."

"Really?" Neal asked as he sat down in the Taurus, brightening further.

"Really. Looks like it could be a big one," Peter commented, watching Neal's reaction with amusement.

"I'm intrigued," Neal said with a grin. They arrived at the FBI headquarters within a few moments and sat down in the conference room.

"So it looks like we've got an embezzlement scheme going here. We can't prove anything yet, but our prime suspect is Don Mitchell." Hughes passed around a photograph. "He's a close friend and business associate of James Myers, the apparent victim."

"James _Myers_?" Neal asked curiously. "The president of Myers Incorporated?"

"Yes, that James Myers," Hughes said with a faint nod.

"Hm." Neal was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. Peter examined his expression.

"You know him?" He asked.

"I knew his son, vaguely, a long time ago," Neal said almost hesitantly. He looked up at Hughes with an expectant expression. "So what are we doing about it?"

"I was getting there, Caffrey," Hughes said impatiently. Peter fought back a slight smirk. Typical Neal Caffrey, getting ahead of the information flow. There was a pause as Neal continued his expectant waiting. Hughes let out a breath of frustrated surrender. "You'll be going undercover for this one, as a financial consultant for Myers." Peter watched as Neal's face clouded almost imperceptibly, but he nodded.

Hughes continued, "You've got a meeting with him and Mitchell at three o'clock. We'll have agents around the building you'll be in, also undercover. You'll be off the anklet for this one, Caffrey." Neal nodded, interest appearing in his eyes.

"How will I be getting there?"

"Just a cab. One of our guys will be the driver."

"Okay." Neal nodded again, considering this.

"We good?" Hughes asked. When everyone nodded he stood. "Okay, people, keep on this. We'll meet back here again at five o'clock if nothing changes."

Peter and Neal walked back to Peter's office and Neal sat down in the chair, leaning back thoughtfully.

"You going to be okay with this?" Peter asked, sitting across from Neal. The ex-con looked up, slightly startled.

"Yeah," Neal replied after a pause, putting on a grin that Peter pretended not to see through. "I'll be okay."

xxxxx

Neal read through the file he'd been given on Myers quietly, fighting back an urge to panic. He could do that later, in private. Not in a glass office surrounded by FBI Agents.

The truth was, he knew Samuel Myers more than just "_vaguely_." The file had barely any information on him; _Samuel Myers, son of James Myers. Age 36. No longer employed at Myers Incorporated._

Silently Neal wondered why Samuel had stopped working for _Daddy_. It had seemed to Neal that it had been going well for the man. But that was a while ago, he reminded himself. It had been only a few months before Peter had started chasing him. Samuel didn't know him as Neal Caffrey, obviously, but any recognition from the man could jeopardize the operation.

"Hello? Neal," Peter said, waving a hand at him. Neal looked up and gave Peter a questioning look.

"Sorry?"

"What's going on?" Peter asked with a mix of concern and frustration in his eyes. "You haven't responded to anything I've said for the past ten minutes."

"I'm just thinking," Neal said defensively. "I haven't gone undercover for a while."

"Yeah, well, I need you paying attention. Can you manage that?" Peter demanded with more anger than he probably meant to convey. At least, that was what Neal told himself as he concealed hurt.

"I think I can manage," Neal said, keeping any emotion save calmness from showing in his voice.

"Thank you." Peter's voice was tinged with sarcasm. "Now, take a look at this and tell me if anything stands out to you." Neal was handed a thick stack of papers. He looked over them silently as he had been asked (_ordered_) to and tried to make sense of the thoughts that were whirling around his head.

The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, until Neal's stomach began to growl quietly. He never ate very much in the mornings, and by lunch time he was generally pretty hungry again. Gradually the other agents filtered out for their lunch breaks, but Peter showed no intention of pausing his work. Neal didn't want to risk making the older man angrier at him by asking to be let go. He also didn't particularly feel like talking to Peter at the moment (not that he was _sulking_ or anything).

Thankfully, he didn't have to. The buzzing of a cell phone against glass jolted Peter out of his work-focused state.

"This is Agent Burke." There was a pause, and the lines around Peter's mouth softened in a smile. "Hey, El. ...I don't know if I can get back for lunch, there's a lot going on right now."

Neal held back a sarcastic comment that came unbidden to his mind. Yeah, sitting around doing paperwork was _so_ much more important than having lunch with your wife.

"Well..." Agent Burke hesitated. "I guess so." He paused again, giving Neal a sideways glance. "Yeah, he's here. Okay. Okay. I'll ask him. Love you, too." He hung up the phone and turned to Neal.

"You're invited to come to lunch," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"You're sure you won't _mind_?" Neal asked with a biting edge that came out before he could stop it. Guilt rushed through him as he saw a slight, puzzled hurt appear in Peter's eyes. He knew deep down that Peter hadn't meant to be irritable. It was just his nature sometimes. Neal let out a sigh, reprimanding himself for not having a tighter hold on his frustrations. "Sorry, Peter. I'd love to come, thank you." Peter nodded, his expression evening out again.

"Okay. Well, I'll quickly finish this up and we can go," he said.

Neal finished the notes he'd taken on the seemingly endless stream of papers and picked up the file on Mitchell and Myers again. He scanned the bit about the amount of money that had apparently been embezzled with interest. It wasn't chump change; for it to have gone unnoticed for so long, Mitchell had to be good.

But where's all the money going? Neal wondered. There was no evidence that Mitchell was spending it or putting it away anywhere, unless the account was hidden very well. Which it could be, Neal reminded himself. It was what he would do. He'd probably even go the extra mile and spread it out. Though, embezzlement had never been one of his alleged crimes.

"Ready?" Peter asked a few minutes later, shutting off his computer.

"As I'll ever be," Neal muttered under his breath, but to Peter he simply nodded with a charming grin. The two silently drove towards the Burkes' residence, each consumed with his own thoughts.

_A/N: Aw, Neal's worried... And sort of grouchy. A side we don't normally see! Hopefully awesome Elizabeth will help. Thank you for the reviews so far! I'm glad you all seemed to like the setup._


	3. Chapter 3

The second Neal and Peter walked through the door, Elizabeth could tell that something was off. Peter seemed to be okay, she suspected he was just tired. And there wasn't anything _obviously _wrong with Neal. He was too good for that. But as he flashed her one of his charming grins and thanked her for inviting him to come, she could sense that there was something hidden behind it.

"It's probably good you made us come," Peter said with a slightly sheepish smile, kissing her on the cheek. "Now that I'm thinking about food, I'm _famished._"

"Well, I happen to _have_ food," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Isn't that convenient?"

"Very," Peter agreed. "And it smells delicious." Neal simply looked on, his usual at-ease, pleasant air still there, but it didn't feel quite the same.

The three friends sat down at the dining table and began to eat the salad and sandwiches Elizabeth had prepared. They spoke lightly and within a half hour the food was mostly gone.

"So, what was so important you almost didn't have time to come?" Elizabeth asked Peter, both curiously and teasingly. She saw Neal shift and glanced at him in time to see irritation flash briefly and suddenly across his face, and leave just as quickly, replaced by calm. Curiosity rose unbidden inside her mind. Just what _was _the matter?

"Well, _right _when you called we were just looking over a couple cold cases Hughes thinks there could be more to. But we're in the process of getting ready for an operation, too," Peter said quickly, as if making an excuse. She smiled gently and nodded.

"What sort of operation?" Elizabeth asked, taking a sip of her light, fruity pink punch.

"A man may be embezzling large amounts of money from Myers Incorporated. We're pretty _sure_that he is, but we can't prove it." Peter looked slightly exasperated.

Elizabeth nodded with a quizzical expression. "How are you going _get_ proof?"

"I'm going undercover," Neal said with a cheerfulness that seemed at odds with his earlier irritation.

"Really?" Elizabeth asked, her mind processing this information. _Maybe _that's _what's bothering him. Though he's never seemed unhappy about undercover work before..._

"Really," Peter confirmed when Neal took a moment to respond again. "He'll be going in as Jacob Elison, a high-profile business and financial consultant." Neal gave Peter a charming smile.

"About that," Neal said quickly. "_Jacob Elison_ just doesn't work for me. Have you given him my 'name' yet?"

"No," Peter said, looking slightly puzzled. "Why does it-"

Neal cut him off, something he didn't usually do. "As far as a business consultant goes, I would really recommend something more like... Michael. Michael Andrews."

"Uh... Okay," Peter said, still looking confused. "You normally don't have issues with the names of your aliases. Goodness knows you've got plenty of them."

Neal tactfully ignored his comment and shrugged lightly. "If I have to act like a high-profile financial guy, it stands to reason that I should have a high-profile-sounding name."

Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two men briefly, wondering what Neal _wasn't _telling them.

"You're the con expert, not me," Peter said with a shrug of agreement. Neal's expression tightened slightly, but he grinned.

"Great," Neal said. He checked his watch.

"You're still got a while," Peter said. "I'll let Hughes know about the name change and make sure the appointment is still on." He stood up, pushing his chair back in after. "Be right back." He stepped into the kitchen, pulling out his cell phone.

Neal straightened his silverware, not quite meeting Elizabeth's eyes as they were left alone.

"What's up, Neal?" Elizabeth asked gently, leaning forward slightly.

Neal's head lifted and his blue gaze met hers, his face going into wide-eyed innocence. "What do you mean?"

"That expression may work on Peter and the FBI, Neal, but not me," Elizabeth reminded him with a hint of amusement. "I can tell something's bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," Neal told her with a look that was all convincing, confident charm and ease. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow gently, but she nodded.

"If you say so," she said. "Just... be careful. Okay?"

"Elizabeth," he said, giving her an amused look. "When am I _not _careful?"

"Almost all the time," Peter said quickly as he walked back into the room. "Hughes is okay with the change in the name, but the appointment has just been moved up half an hour." He looked between his wife and Neal, his eyes narrowing slightly. Neal stood before he could ask questions.

"In that case, I'd better get going. You can't rush style," he told Elizabeth with a grin. She laughed gently and stood, walking to the door with him.

"Thanks for coming, Neal," she said as he walked out. She added more quietly, so only he could hear her, "good luck." He shot her a slightly surprised, grateful look and nodded.

"Thank _you_," he said, hailing a cab. "See you at the meeting later, Peter."

Peter came up behind her. "Bye." Neal got into the cab and closed the door behind him, but not before Elizabeth caught the worry and deep concentration that stole suddenly onto the young man's face.

_What's going on?_

xxxxx

In the silence of the cab, Neal leaned his forehead against the seat in front of himself. He was grateful that this driver seemed to be the "tell me where to go and I'll drive you" type, not the talkative type. He closed his eyes, exhaling quietly.

_"Be careful," _Elizabeth had said. If she'd been able to tell he was bothered by something, he was really slipping. And he couldn't afford to go into this case like that. _Step it up a bit_.

Elizabeth had been so kind, though, concerning herself with his wellbeing. Well, at least one Burke cared what happened to him.

_That's not true, _his optimistic side protested. _You know Peter cares. _

_Does he? Does he really? _The opposing voice demanded. This made Neal let out a silent breath of bitter amusement. When the voices in your head started _arguing, _you knew you needed help.

"We're here, man," the driver said, jolting him out of his reverie.

He paid the cab driver and stepped out, looking up at June's mansion as he'd done countless times before, marveling again at the luck he'd had in finding a place here. A place he actually felt like he _belonged_.

"Hello, Neal," his landlady said as she lifted her coat from the closet. "How was your morning?"

Neal forced a smile, hoping it would seep into his voice. "It was fine."

June turned around, giving him a look of questioning. "What's wrong?" For once, Neal wasn't all that happy about her perceptiveness. This wasn't really what he wanted to discuss.

"It's just a case," Neal said, then repeated his earlier words, "Nothing I can't handle."

"Are you sure?" June asked, her brown eyes concerned.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Neal said, nodding reassuringly. "I've got to go get ready for a meeting with a suspect, I should be back this evening."

"Alright. I won't be back until later tonight," June said, giving him a brief hug. "Good luck with your meeting. You'll do fine."

"Thanks, June." Neal walked up the stairs as she left. "Bye."

"Goodbye," her voice floated up as he reached the top. With a brief sigh, Neal opened the door to his apartment. He set his fedora down on the coffee table, unsurprised to see Mozzie crashed on the couch.

Sitting down across from the man, Neal leaned his arms on his knees and said, "Moz." Immediately he shot up.

"I want a lawyer present!" He exclaimed. Neal wondered what the man dreamed about, given his normal style of waking. Under any other circumstances, he would've laughed at the wild-eyed look on Mozzie's face, but things being as they were, he didn't.

"Oh." Mozzie rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses, looking slightly sheepish. "It's _you_." His tone took on an accusatory note. "After all these years, haven't you learned yet _not _to wake me up?"

"Sorry, Moz," Neal said quickly. "But it's an emergency." Mozzie leaned back into the couch.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Neal said, a tad defensive, since _he hadn't_. "It's about a case."

"The Suit can't help you?" Mozzie asked skeptically.

"He doesn't know I _need _help," Neal said. "And I prefer it to stay that way."

"Fine." Mozzie rolled his eyes, though Neal knew he wasn't _really _upset. "Lay it on me."

"I'm going undercover."

Mozzie's eyebrows rose with an unspoken, "_And?"_

Neal picked up the file he'd brought and braced himself for the reaction he knew Mozzie would have. "...at Myers incorporated."

For a split second it was silent, Mozzie's expression one of shock. Then he registered the information and he began to protest. "What? Why would you do that?"

"Peter-"

Mozzie cut him off quickly, looking about as worked up as Neal had ever seen him. "Oh, so if The Suit orders you to do something idiotic, it's okay. Isn't this the same Myers who vowed to kill you?"

"Not... explicitly," Neal said slowly. "And besides, Moz, Samuel quit working for the company. It'll just be Myers Senior, and he has no idea who I am. It'll be okay."

Mozzie took a few breaths to calm himself down. "I still think it's a horrible idea."

Neal shrugged. "I have to do it," he said.

"Why do you need me?" Mozzie asked grudgingly after a moment. Neal felt a rush of gratitude.

"I need you to look into someone," he said. "See if you can find any information the FBI can't."

"Who?" At this point Mozzie's tone was simply resigned. This was generally a regular pattern for them.

"Don Mitchell. He's the suspect. I want to know if he's got any debts, any suspicious connections that he's trying to cover up."

"Consider it done," Mozzie said sarcastically.

"Thanks, Mozzie," Neal said, standing with a grateful nod. "I owe you one."

"You _already_ owe me," Mozzie muttered. Neal couldn't hold back a slight smile as he got ready for the meeting, changing his clothing to fit the part just right. As he pinned his tie and quickly combed his hair, he tried to envision all the possible scenarios he could be faced with. After he was satisfied with his appearance, he gave himself a smile in the mirror, concentrating on sliding back into the charming mask quickly.

"I'll be back later," Neal said, slipping on a suit jacket. "The FBI want to meet after I get through talking to Myers."

"If you're still alive by then."

"Moz..." Neal didn't really know what to say. He was touched by his friend being concerned in his own way, but it wasn't really helping his confidence level. "I can handle this."

As he walked out the door and down into the New York streets, he hoped he was right.

_A/N: Now Mozzie is helping! :) And we all know Mozzie is _very_ good at finding stuff. But Neal is still worried... Thanks for all your reviews so far. I appreciate them all. You guys are great!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah, Mr. Andrews," James Myers said as he extended his hand. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you, Mr. Myers. You have a very fine office," Neal said, sitting down in a seat across from a large desk. He unconsciously shifted his leg out of habit, to hide the anklet he wasn't wearing. After so long, it felt strange _not _to have it on.

"Thank you." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "You came very highly recommended, Mr. Andrews. I hope you live up to your reputation." Neal was only able to smile in a reassuring, carefree fashion thanks to much practice.

"I will, sir. You can be certain of that." _And the pressure goes up._

They spoke for a few moments about Myers' current financial issues. The man knew about the embezzlement (he'd been the one to report it, obviously), but he had no idea that was why Neal was there or who was suspected in the fraud. So he didn't mention anything about it to Neal, simply stating he wanted to improve gross profits. Then a knock came on the door.

"Come in," Myers said, looking at the well-made wooden door with raised eyebrows. "Hello, Don." Don Mitchell entered. He was a short, balding man with an air of false servility, and his smile was smarmy. Neal instantly didn't like him, but still had to nod politely as Myers introduced him.

"Mr. Andrews, this is my associate Don Mitchell. Don, this is my new financial consultant Michael Andrews." Neal extended his hand and Mitchell took it with disdain Neal knew he was _supposed _to see.

"Mr. Andrews."

"Mr. Mitchell, good to meet you," Neal said with the proper amount of polite respect in his voice. Mitchell sat down in the chair next to Myers and the Corporate manager continued.

"Don, Mr. Andrews and I were just discussing the best way to increase profits," Myers said. "The state of the company's finances right now is simply unacceptable." Neal watched Mitchell discreetly but intently during this, and a slight change came over the man. His hands tightened on his knees and his expression slipped.

"I see," Mitchell said, nodding composedly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Everyone can do something," Myers assured him. "That's part of what Mr. Andrews is here to help with." Mitchell nodded again obligingly, and the conversation continued. Neal made sure to note what caused certain reactions in Mitchell. There were a _lot_. The man certainly was twitchy, possibly even more so than _Mozzie_.

"Thank you," Myers said what felt like an eternity later. He stood and shook hands with Neal again. "It sounds like you will be a great help to our company. I'd like to set up a meeting with more of my executive managers." Before Neal could respond positively or negatively he continued, "Say, tomorrow at ten o'clock, here."

"I'll be here, sir," Neal assured him, pushing his chair back in lightly as he walked to the door.

As the thick door closed behind him, Neal hovered for just a moment to see if he could catch any snippets of conversation from the office. Unfortunately the sound was too muffled by the door and walls.

"Yes, sir, I'm delivering it to him now." A woman's voice floated around the corner and Neal started walking down the stairs. Getting caught eavesdropping was probably _not _the best idea at this point. He gave the woman a smile and nod as they passed each other and she smiled back shyly. Neal continued walking until he made it out of the building and let out a breath.

He checked his watch and started down the street, wanting to grab a bit to eat before he went back to FBI headquarters for the meeting.

"You're still alive," a voice observed from behind him. Neal jumped and turned around to see Mozzie looking at him with a cup of coffee clutched in one hand.

"Not the best way to greet someone, Moz," Neal said, faintly irritated but still relieved. Mozzie shrugged and handed him a danish. "Thanks." Neal smiled slightly.

"You're welcome." Mozzie started walking again, Neal staying next to him. "So how'd it go?"

"Fine," Neal said with a shrug, taking a bite of the danish. He swallowed and continued, "Mitchell was there. He was... twitchy."

"Myers doesn't _know _he's the suspect, right?" Mozzie asked. "I read the file."

"No, he doesn't." Neal gave Mozzie a curious look. "Did you just come to see if I survived?"

"No," Mozzie said. "I got some information on Mitchell that _might _interest you."

"Really?" Neal raised his eyebrows.

"Yep. He's definitely got some stuff he _doesn't_ want coming to light. He's got megabytes of encrypted files on his personal computer, and he has a safe that no one but him is registered to, not even his wife."

"And you found this out _how_?"

Mozzie gave him a look as if to say, _It's me we're talking about._

"Right." Neal finished the danish and checked his phone again. "I'd better head back to FBI headquarters."

"You have a meeting with _The Suit_?" Mozzie asked disdainfully.

"A lot of them, actually."

"Hmph. Good luck."

"Thanks, Moz. I'll see you later."

"We hope."

Neal rolled his eyes, amused in spite of himself as he hailed a cab.

xxxxx

"_Where_ is Caffrey?" Hughes asked impatiently, checking his watch.

"Somebody say my name?" Neal poked his head through the door and grinned.

"Neal." Peter half-smiled and leaned back in his chair. "You're late."

"New York traffic," Neal said, shrugging with a _What can you do? _look.

"Sit down," Hughes said. "We've got to get this started." Peter watched as Neal sat down next to him and leaned back, waiting.

"How did the meeting with Myers go?" Hughes asked, resuming his seat at the head of the conference table.

"He seemed like he was satisfied with my cover," Neal said. "He didn't question it at all."

"And he didn't mention anything about the suspected embezzlement?" Diana asked.

"No." Neal gave a smile. "He said he was experiencing _financial difficulties_, but nothing about the reasons. Like I said, to him I'm just a simple financial consultant." Peter grinned slightly at this.

"Did you see Mitchell?" Hughes asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, actually. He came in and joined the meeting," Neal said. Peter turned to face him curiously. Neal nodded. "Just after Myers and I started talking he came in. Myers introduced us. Even if I didn't know he was a suspect I wouldn't trust him."

"So he seems suspicious?" Jones asked.

"Very. And when Myers was talking about how the finances didn't really make sense, he was _very_ jumpy."

"So we've definitely got our suspect, but no evidence yet," Hughes said. Neal shifted. Peter shot him a glance but Neal shook his head almost imperceptibly. Peter narrowed his eyes, silently promising Neal that he'd ask later.

"I want you all on this. Look into Mitchell." Hughes stood up.

"Oh," Neal said, lifting one hand slightly. Hughes nodded for him to continue. "Myers wants another meeting, tomorrow morning at ten."

"Good. Maybe by then we'll have something on Mitchell." Hughes started leaving the conference room. "Come back here again when you're done tomorrow, Caffrey."

"You got it," Neal said with another smile. He stood up and followed Peter to the agent's office.

"So." Peter closed the glass door behind them and sat down at his desk. "What _aren't _you telling us?"

"It's nothing concrete," Neal said, sitting across from Peter. "I didn't want to share it until I was sure."

"Share anyway." Peter's voice was dry but not angry. He'd learned by this point that Neal usually knew what evidence was pertinent to a case. _Usually_. But sometimes he didn't choose the best time to bring it out.

"Well, Moz started looking into Mitchell. He says Mitchell's definitely hiding _something_, but he doesn't have any proof. Yet," he added when Peter gave him a skeptical look.

"Okay," Peter said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, while he's working on _that_, we'll look into Mitchell the good old-fashioned way." Peter watched with amusement as Neal let out a long-suffering sigh.

"More reading files?"

Peter nodded in confirmation, smiling at Neal's half-petulant tone and expression. So far it appeared that Neal was feeling better. _Or he's just hiding it better, _Peter reminded himself. "I think you'll live," he said, handing over a few files he'd grabbed. "Start with these."

"Yes, _sir_," Neal said with a mocking grin. The office was mostly silent as the two of them sifted through files, Peter occasionally using the computer. After about an hour, Neal started fidgeting. After two hours, he was letting out intermittent sighs and kept tapping things in sporadic morse code. _I'm bored. Files are never interesting. Potato salad. _

_Is he _hungry_ or something?_ Peter wondered, pretending not to hear the messages_. Maybe that way he'll stop._

No luck there. Neal continued tapping out his boredom. _Peter, this is-_

"Okay," Peter said, tossing down his file. It was _very _difficult to concentrate with a bored Neal Caffrey around. "I think we're done for tonight."

"Aw, are you sure?" Neal grinned at Peter, setting down the file with no reluctance.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go home."

"Sounds good to me," Neal said. "Say hello to Elizabeth for me."

"I will," Peter promised. They both entered the elevator and then went out to the front of the building. As Neal hailed a cab and started toward it, Peter stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Neal. Is everything alright with you?"

Surprise flashed in those blue eyes before Neal grinned disarmingly. "Everything's great. I'm _touched_ that you'd ask, Peter." Neal tipped his fedora as he got into the cab. "Good night."

"Good night." Peter stood there for a moment, watching the cab drive away. He knew Neal was lying. Lying very well, perhaps, but still lying. _I'll ask again tomorrow. _And he walked toward his car, yawning as he dialed Elizabeth to let her know he was on his way home.

_A/N: So, everything making sense so far? Sometimes I don't even make sense to _myself_, so let me know if you're puzzled. Thanks for the reviews so far! I appreciate them!_


	5. Chapter 5

Neal woke late the next morning, not really feeling rested. He'd come home to a silent house the night before, but hadn't really been able to relax. He had already been asleep when June came home, but that hadn't lasted.

With a firm resolve _not _to think about the case yet, Neal got out of bed wearily and took a long, hot shower. By the time he was dressed and combing his hair, he heard someone knock on his door.

"I'm coming," he said, walking over. He opened the door and his blue eyes filled with surprise. "Peter. You're... here."

"Yep." The FBI Agent nodded.

Neal hesitated briefly. "Is there a _reason_ for that?"

"Not really." Peter shrugged. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah..." Neal moved aside to let Peter walk through and shot the back of his head a puzzled look, but evened out his expression when Peter turned.

"You sleep okay?" Peter's expression was unreadable.

"Yeah," Neal said. And it _wasn't _a lie. Compared to many nights, it _had_ been a very restful one. Neal tilted his head to one side. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering." Peter sat down at Neal's table and picked up a chess piece, fingering it thoughtfully.

"How about you?" Neal asked, taking the chair across from him. Peter look up, raising one eyebrow in confusion.

"Hm?"

"How did _you _sleep?" Neal repeated.

"Oh. Fine." Peter set down the chess piece and there were a few seconds of silence. "The truth is, I..." He hesitated and met Neal's eyes. "I'm worried about you, Neal. What's up with this case that's getting you so worked up? What aren't you telling me?"

Neal was touched by Peter's concern for him, but internally he just wanted to shout. _Not here. Please. Not now. I don't want to get into this right now._ But he didn't say any of that. He just smiled gently and shrugged. "It's just a case. I'm fine." Neal was beginning to feel a bit like a broken record. First Elizabeth had asked him, then June, and Mozzie in his own way, then Peter _twice_. And every time he had to say the same things to reassure everyone.

"Yeah." Peter said this as if he'd expected exactly this answer. "Well, when you want to talk..." Peter shrugged.

Neal nodded tightly. Peter stood up and gestured to the door.

"Want to grab some breakfast?" He asked.

"Think I'll pass this time," Neal said, glancing at the clock. "I don't have that long before the meeting." Not _entirely _true. He could've been back in time, but it was the only excuse he had on hand. And he really didn't want to spend half an hour getting the _what's wrong? _treatment.

"Okay," Peter said, shrugging again. He started walking out and stopped in the doorway, turning back. "Hey, good luck."

"Thanks." Neal smiled at Peter before the agent left, then he sat down at the table, fingering the same chess piece Peter had been holding. Ten o'clock would come all too soon.

At ten to ten, Neal had just gotten out of the cab in front of Myers' building. As he walked up the steps, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"I got something on Mitchell." It was Mozzie's voice, and he sounded very smug.

"I'm on my way up to the meeting right now. Can't it wait?"

"It's big," Mozzie said. "And if I were you I'd want to go in with all the information I could get." Neal checked the time and let out a breath, walking a few paces away toward another building and stopping under an awning.

"Okay, go ahead."

"Turns out, up until recently he was working two jobs."

"We can't arrest him for being a workaholic," Neal said, glancing back at the building.

"I know, I'm not _finished_." Neal could practically _hear _Mozzie's exasperated expression. "He worked at a small company for several years, then got the job at Myers Incorporated. He worked both jobs for about four months."

"Right, then he got fired from his other job," Neal said.

"No," Mozzie said. "His other company didn't fire him, he quit out of the blue. So I looked into it, and it turns out it was a front for a group of money launderers." Neal's eyebrows rose.

"That's unexpected. So why'd he quit?"

"He _lost_ some money he was supposed to be _laundering_." He imagined Mozzie shrugging. "Folks don't really like people like that working for them."

"So..."

"He owes them. Big time."

"That sounds like motive to me," Neal said, keeping his voice down. He smiled slightly. "Thanks, Moz. Good work. I've got to get to the meeting now."

"Don't trust anyone in there," Mozzie advised him as Neal started walking back. "They're all sharks, no matter how nice they seem."

"Believe me," Neal said, resuming his path up the stairs, "I know." He hung up the phone and entered the building.

xxxxx

"Neal."

"Peter." Neal walked into Peter's office a few minutes before the FBI's meeting was supposed to start.

"How'd it go?" Peter asked. Neal sat down before answering.

"It was _awful_," Neal said, shaking his head. Peter's eyes widened in alarm.

"Should we pull the plug? Is your cover compromised?"

"No," Neal said quickly, holding up both hands. "Sorry, I should've phrased that better." He let out a breath. "The cover is rock solid. But Myers had all the department managers there and he was going on and on about the ideas I have, and how _great_ everything is going to be..." Neal trailed off as he saw Peter trying not to grin. "It's not funny!"

"Oh. Sorry." Peter coughed. "I just had this amusing image of you being praised shamelessly and applauded and actually _not _being happy about it." Neal rolled his eyes slightly.

"It's happened," he said with a smile. "Really, though, I'll just be glad when this whole thing is over. Have you guys gotten anything new on Mitchell?"

"Nothing," Peter said with an air of frustration. "The guy seems clean. He had a job with a small-scale company up until a couple months ago, it looks pretty run-of-the-mill." Neal debated for a moment whether or not to mention the _actual _purpose of the company.

He was about to begin when he was cut off by a quick knock at the door.

"Come in," Peter said, and Hughes opened the door.

"Oh, Caffrey, you're back." Hughes glanced at him and then looked at Peter. "Come to the conference room."

"Yes, sir," Peter said. After the older man closed the door, Peter shot Neal an amused glance. "Maybe this meeting will go better for you."

Neal grimaced gently. "We can hope."

They went to sit down in the conference room and the meeting began immediately. Neal recounted what had happened with Myers; who was there, what was said. He was grateful for all the times he'd practiced speaking fluidly while really thinking about something else entirely.

"Did Mitchell say anything that would suggest guilt?" Hughes asked him.

"No," Neal said. "He still seems jumpy, but he _talks_ like a perfect employee." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Of course he does," he said. "They always do." Hughes nodded.

"We don't have anything concrete on Mitchell yet," the man said. "Just a whole lot of _maybes_."

Neal gave Peter a look and Peter tilted his head curiously. _"Later," _Neal mouthed. Peter nodded slightly. Neal generally liked to run the information by Peter before telling _everyone_. Especially because he sometimes didn't have proof, and often the information wasn't _technically _admissible.

"I want you all to keep on him," Hughes said. "Phone records, credit card records, everything. And tell me the second you find anything."

The FBI agents (and Neal) filed out of the conference room.

"So," Peter said as they sat down in his office. "What's up?"

"Mozzie found something else on Mitchell," Neal said, leaning forward slightly.

"And?"

"That _run-of-the-mill _small company? It's actually a front for money laundering." Neal watched Peter's eyebrows furrow as the Agent processed this information.

"So why'd he quit?" Peter asked.

Neal related what Mozzie had told him. "So he definitely would have motive to steal from Myers."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, nodding. He looked at Neal curiously. "And did your friend tell you how he found this out?" Neal shook his head, shrugging.

"He usually doesn't."

"Hm." Peter stood up. "Well, let's see if we can get the same information _legally._" He opened the office door. "Jones."

"Yeah?" The man responded as he stopped in front of the office.

"Something tells me that the company Mitchell used to work for isn't as clean as it seems. Would you keep digging?"

"You got it, boss," Jones said with a grin. He walked back down the stairs and Peter came back to face Neal.

"Did Myers say anything about another meeting?" Peter asked.

"Not specifically," Neal said. "But he said he'd call me tonight if there was going to be one. I'm supposed to be working on fixing the company's budget."

"You gave him the right cell number?" Peter asked. Neal lifted one eyebrow.

"Yeah," he said. "So far he hasn't used it, but obviously you'll know if he does." For this assignment, Neal had been given an alternate cell phone to use, and the FBI had it tapped.

"That we will," Peter said, nodding. "So are you actually _going _to work on the budget?"

"I guess I have to," Neal said. "If this takes a while, it'll be necessary to keeping my cover."

"Sounds like fun," Peter said teasingly. Neal rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yes. I'm _so_ excited." He stood up and gave Peter a small smile. "See you later."

"Good luck with the number crunching," Peter called after him.

"Thanks." Neal walked out of FBI headquarters and hailed a cab, forcing his shoulders to relax. Everything was going according to plan, it appeared they'd get a lead on Mitchell fairly soon. There was no reason for him to still feel as anxious as he did. But he couldn't shake it.

_A/N: Aw, poor Neal. He needs a hug... I'd give him one! Just to let you all know, you're awesome. I love your reviews, all of them make my day that much better. And I'm also very glad that most of you seem to think that the "flash forward" time skip thing was carried out okay. So... Yep, thanks guys!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This is a really short chapter, but it sort of needed to be on its own, so you guys will get two today. Lucky ducks!_

Neal couldn't understand it. He'd been over the budget files Myers had given him and the results were the same every time.

They covered the last twelve months. Mitchell had only been working for Myers for about six. But something didn't add up.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," Neal said, wiping his expression blank, then forcing a smile.

"Little help?" Peter's voice filtered through.

"Sure," Neal said. He opened the door and discovered why Peter had needed help. His smile became genuine as he saw the FBI agent struggling to balance a box of pizza and a pack of beers.

"Thanks," Peter said, relieved as he set everything down on the far end of the table.

"I thought you'd be with Elizabeth," Neal commented.

"She's working late." He grinned. "A bit of a role reversal, I know. But she has a big presentation for this company that might want to use her for their event. It's important to her." Neal nodded his understanding. "And," Peter added, "I thought you might need a little pick-me-up after all the _exciting _math you've been doing."

"Thanks," Neal said with a sincere grin, surprised. He and Peter sat down at the same time. "Actually, I was just about to call you."

"Really? Why?" Now it was Peter's turn to look surprised.

"I went through these half a dozen times," Neal said, lifting up the files. "And I'm _sure_ I'm not making a mistake. But this doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"Mitchell has only been working for Myers for about six months, right?" Neal asked, opening the budget records.

"Right," Peter said, his tone showing that he wasn't sure where this was going.

"Then why does the money start disappearing eight months ago?"

Peter's eyes widened. "That's not possible."

"But it's right here," Neal said with a slight shrug. "I'm sure of it."

"Then how?" Peter wondered, leaning his head on one of his hands. "He _couldn't _have been doing it then if he wasn't even _working _there." They were silent for a moment, and then they both looked up with a shared look of understanding.

"So either it's not really Mitchell," Peter began.

"Or he has an accomplice." Neal nodded and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "But who?"

"That's the question we have to answer, I guess," Peter said. He checked his watch. "I'm going to call over to the office and see who's still there."

"Okay," Neal said, relieved now that he'd told Peter. The agent stood and pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, dialing.

"Hey, Jones," Peter greeted. "Listen, we've got something on Mitchell that doesn't quite add up." There was a long pause.

"Really?" Peter sounded pleased. He covered the mouthpiece and looked over to Neal. "He says they found out the company was a front. So now we're all on the same page." He returned his attention to the phone and began to relate the discrepancy in the financial records to Jones.

Neal smiled slightly to himself as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his suit pants. He was glad Jones had found out about the company (the _legal _way, as Peter would certainly rub in later). It would be easier that way.

"Okay," Peter said. "Jones is checking out Mitchell's associates from the 'company.' But for now, let's just eat this pizza." Neal grinned.

"Sounds like a plan." After a few minutes he'd decided to change into something more comfortable and had come back.

"You know," Neal said thoughtfully as he studied his food. "I didn't really _eat _very much pizza before all this."

"Really?" Peter asked. Neal shook his head; he generally preferred healthier foods.

"You sure sent it to the surveillance vans a lot, though," Peter said with a grin.

"True," Neal agreed. "I didn't know what you liked then."

"And you figured pizza was just standard?" Peter inquired.

"Pretty much." Neal grinned as he leaned back into his chair. It felt nice to let everything go for a moment, knowing he wasn't alone in this.

"Well," Peter said, "it was certainly... amusing."

"I'm so glad I could _amuse _my surveillance detail," Neal said in a dry tone.

"Wasn't that the point?" Peter gave him a look.

"...Maybe."


	7. Chapter 7

"So," Hughes said the next afternoon. They were all in the conference room, bringing everyone up to speed on the new information. "We've got a money laundering scheme that our suspect suddenly ducked out of, and an embezzlement scheme that started before our suspect could've been involved." He looked around at the agents. "What does it mean?"

"Do we know why he quit?" A female agent sitting near Peter asked.

"We're not sure," Jones said. "It's likely there's some sort of debt involved. If he _did _get into the embezzlement, that would certainly be motive." Peter glanced over at Neal, who was doing a remarkable job of looking attentive. Peter watched him for a moment, unable to discern if he was _actually_ listening.

"Look into it," Hughes ordered. "If he owed them so much as a penny, I want to know about it."

"Yes, sir," it echoed through through the room as they stood to leave. Jones walked over to Peter and Neal.

"I've got something you might want to see," Jones said. Peter raised his eyebrow.

"Alright," Peter said. Neal nodded and all three of them walked down to Jones's desk. Jones pulled up a photograph. It was a small coffee shop that Peter vaguely recognized.

"That's Mitchell," Jones said, pointing with a pencil. The surveillance camera had gotten a picture of a table. Mitchell was facing the window.

"Who's with him?" Neal asked, leaning forward slightly. An average-sized, fair-haired man was sitting facing _away _from the window.

"We don't know," Jones said. "We checked the coffee shop's security feed, too."

"And?" Peter asked, peering at the screen curiously.

"And this guy was either lucky," Jones said, "or he _knew_ where the cameras were. We didn't get a single shot of his face. Just a whole lot of the back of his head."

"What about the employees who served them?" Neal asked.

"We talked to them," Jones said. "Only two people were working at the time. Neither of them can say exactly what he looked like. _Average_ was the only word they could use."

"Let me guess," Peter said, "Mitchell paid?"

"Mhmm." Jones shook his head exasperatedly. "In cash, too. He obviously didn't want anyone to know about whatever he was doing there."

"Well that's great," Peter said sarcastically, running a hand through his hair. "So we know he met someone, but we don't know who, or even _why_." Neal made a thoughtful sound and looked over at him. The ex-con's eyes held the spark of an idea.

"Try running all the people that he worked closely with at his old _company_," Neal suggested. "Not _all_ of them could be described as 'blonde and average.' It'll at least narrow things down."

"Good idea," Peter said. He cast a look at Jones.

"On it," the man said with a nod. As Jones stood, Neal jumped.

"Something wrong?" Peter asked, amused.

"My phone's ringing," Neal said, pulling it out. "The bugged one." Peter raised his eyebrows as Neal answered it.

"Andrews," Neal said. Peter thought privately that it was strange to hear Neal actually _refer _tohimself as someone else. "Hello, sir." There was a pause. "Yes, I'll be there. Thank you, sir. Goodbye." He hung up the phone.

"We've got it recorded, but why don't you just save us the trouble and tell us now," Peter suggested.

"Since you asked _so _nicely," Neal said with a smirk. "Myers wants me over there in an hour."

"Did he say why?" Jones asked.

"Apparently he has some new data for me." Neal shrugged. "That's all."

"I guess you'd better go get ready, then," Peter said with a teasing smile. "You can't rush _style_, after all."

"Nope," Neal agreed, grinning at Peter's turnabout. "I'll see you guys later, then. Good luck with Mitchell's mystery friend."

"Y'know," Jones said amusedly as Neal walked gracefully through the glass FBI doors, "as weird as it was at first, I think we're lucky to have him."

"Yeah," Peter said with a smile. "I know."

xxxxx

Three hours later, Neal was feeling less than enthused about the whole thing. He'd just been given even _more _budget data to add to his already impossibly large pile of files. And Myers was still "shamelessly praising" him to everyone who came in. He certainly wouldn't be mentioning _that_ to Peter. He didn't know how many more self-satisfied Peter Smirks his ego could take.

And to top it all off, he _still _hadn't gotten anything else on Mitchell. The man hadn't even been in all day, according to the young, blonde intern who giggled whenever Neal so much as looked at her.

"Mr. Andrews?" Speaking of which... Neal turned around.

"Yes, Anna?" He smiled at the girl.

"I thought you might want to know, since you were asking earlier," she said. "Mr. Mitchell just got back. He's heading up here to Mr. Myers' office." Neal kept his expression even, giving her a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he said. She nodded.

"You're welcome," she said as she walked away giggling quietly. Neal smiled slightly to himself. An idea came suddenly to him and he pulled out his phone, moving in the direction of Myers' office and stopping in an empty alcove that was _just_ close enough. He put his phone to his ear as he heard footsteps at the base of the stairs that he recognized as Mitchell's.

"Yeah, I know." He let out a sigh. The footsteps got closer to the top of the stairs. "It's fine. Not like I hoped. The pay isn't even _half _of what it should be for all the crap I'm putting up with." He pretended to listen to someone on the other line, putting his free hand on his hip and shaking his head.

"No. All I've been doing is working with their budgets and attending long, _worthless_ meetings. I hate it." He removed his hand from his hip and ran his hand through his hair 'angrily' as he heard Mitchell reach the top of the stairs, take a few more steps, and stop. "Yeah, and that's another thing I hate. Kissing up to these rich business guys that couldn't care less if I can make rent payments or even have food, while they buy wine for five hundred dollars a pop." He paused again.

"I don't know, Jim. Sometimes I wonder if there isn't a better way to earn money. Yeah, okay. Talk to you later." He pretended to hand up the phone. Mitchell tapped his foot against the floor behind him and Neal spun around, his eyes widening.

"Mr. Mitchell!" Neal pretended to look alarmed. "I didn't..." He forced a sheepish, concerned expression. "Did you?..."

"Yes, Mr. Andrews," Mitchell said curtly. "I did. All of it."

Neal rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly, "I'm sorry, sir, it's just-"

"Don't apologize to me, son," Mitchell said. Neal forced himself not to make a face at the falsely kind "_son_." Mitchell took a step closer. "I understand exactly how you feel." He took another step, lowering his voice. "You got anything else to do for Myers, kid?"

_Oh, great, _Neal thought sarcastically. _Son and "kid." _But he nodded politely. "Yes, sir. He said he would have another financial file ready for me. I have to go back to his office to get it, then I'll be done for the day."

"Great," Mitchell said, clapping Neal on the shoulder (rather hard). "I've got to _give _him a file. Let's go up there and finish up, then I'd like to take you out to coffee."

"Thank you, sir," Neal said, his tone just the right mixture of polite awe, gratitude, and sincerity. They walked the remaining yards to Myers' office and Mitchell knocked.

"Come in," Myers said from inside. They completed their respective business and Neal followed Mitchell out of the building and down the street.

"So, what exactly _are_ you doing for Myers?" Mitchell asked curiously.

"Budgeting stuff," Neal said, shaking his head exasperatedly. "Analyzing records, _increasing gross income._"

"Sounds like fun," Mitchell said drily. "I can understand why you're bored with it." They reached the coffee shop and Neal knew he was meant to open the door for Mitchell. He did so and they stepped inside.

_It's the same one he was at with our mystery man,_ Neal realized as he looked around. They each got their own cup of coffee. Mitchell got a very _large_ amount of cream and sugar in his (to the point where Neal no longer thought it deserved to be _called_ coffee). Neal got his with a small amount of irish creme. June's italian roast was very much superior to anything one could find elsewhere, but he had to make do with whatever he could get.

"So, Mr. Andrews," Mitchell said as they sat down in a back corner of the shop. "You are... _dissatisfied _with your current pay grade at Myers Incorporated?"

"Well, sir," Neal said carefully, "I'm not necessarily dissatisfied with it. I just wish that there was a more... practical way to earn money. So much work for so little compensation simply seems like it isn't the best way."

"It's not," Mitchell said. Neal felt a rush of excitement but kept his expression merely curious.

"What do you mean?" Neal asked politely.

"My partner and I started a _business_ a while ago. It has become quite profitable."

"Who is your partner?" Neal asked before he could stop himself, then gave the man an apologetic look.

"It's quite alright to be curious," Mitchell said with an insincere smile. "I'm sure he'd like to have you in our business, what with your talent for numbers. Meet me here in two hours. He'll be here, too."

"Thank you, sir." Neal gave him a grateful smile and stood, having finished his coffee. "I'd better go home. All this-" he gestured to the files, "is going to take a while."

"Very well, Mr. Andrews," Mitchell said. "I'll see you tonight. Don't be late."

"I won't," Neal said with a nod. He left the coffee shop.

It was only when he was safely in a cab headed back to June's house that he allowed himself a triumphant grin.

_A/N: Aw, Neal. So happy with himself. Bets on what's going to happen?_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This chapter is where things start to get a little more intense. Hope you all enjoy! Also, are you aware we are now less than six days away from White Collar? How awesome is that?_

"Peter," Neal said, walking into the man's office. He got a tired, rather puzzled look from Peter.

"Neal." The agent checked his watch. "It's nine o'clock. Why aren't you at home?"

"Why aren't _you?_" Neal countered, sitting down across from Peter.

"I'm still working."

"_Sure_." Neal leaned back in the chair and couldn't restrain a grin.

"What's got you so happy?"

"I met with Mitchell earlier," Neal said, leaning forward again. "He'd gotten the idea I wasn't happy with what I'm making working for Myers."

"I wonder how," Peter said drily, motioning for Neal to continue.

"Well, he mentioned that he and _his partner_ had started a more..." Neal tried to remember Mitchell's exact words. "Profitable business. He said that, given my skills, his partner would probably like to have me as an associate."

"Did he." Peter sounded both intrigued and wary. "And?"

"He said to come back in two hours. So I did."

"And you didn't think to come back here and _tell us_ first?" Peter demanded.

"There wasn't time," Neal said defensively, shrugging. "I got home to get some of the _exciting _work done and by the time I finished I had to get right over there."

"Fine," Peter acknowledged grudgingly. "So what happened at the second meeting?"

"His partner ended up not being able to come, but apparently Mitchell told him about me and he seemed enthusastic about it." Neal shrugged.

"About _what_?" Peter asked, frustrated.

"About becoming a partner in their business," Neal said, as if it was obvious. Peter's eyes widened slightly.

"No. No, no, _no._" Peter gave Neal a firm look. "There is no way you're going to do that. Don't even _think_ about it, Caffrey."

"Peter," Neal said with an innocent expression. "It's the best way to find out who Mitchell's partner is _and_ prove they're actually embezzling from the company."

"I don't care," Peter said emphatically. "It's a bad idea. We _don't_ know who Mitchell's partner is and therefore have _no _idea of what he's capable of. You could get yourself killed if they find out you're working with us."

"They won't find out," Neal said confidently. "Trust me."

"No," Peter said again. Neal had to keep hurt from his eyes as the agent continued angrily. "And I'll _know_ if you do. I can check your anklet."

Neal gave him a flat look.

Peter realized his mistake. "Well, there's still the pen. And even _without_ that, Caffrey, I'd still know."

"Fine," Neal said, shrugging and faking an easy smile. "We'll do it your way." He stood up and left, ignoring Peter's slightly surprised look.

"Good night to you, too, Peter," he muttered to himself as he left. "And thanks for the vote of confidence."

xxxxx

Neal got up early to a quiet house. He quickly got ready for the day, slipped the heavy FBI-issued pen into his coat pocket. He was halfway out the door when June's voice caught him.

"Good morning, Neal," she said kindly. "Where are you going so early?" He winced slightly before turning around with a smile.

"I just have another meeting," he said, rolling his eyes lightly. "They're getting sort of boring, but I've got to keep the cover."

"Ah," she said, nodding. He thought he detected a hint of questioning in her eyes. Luckily she didn't press for more information. "Hopefully you can get all this solved soon, so you don't have to be so busy all the time."

"Hopefully," Neal said with a nod. "I think I'm getting close."

"That's good. Have a nice day," she said, straightening his lapel slightly.

"Thanks, June. I'll see you tonight." He smiled at her, grateful for her caring as he hailed a cab.

He yawned slightly sitting in the back seat. After coming home, he'd been too riled up to sleep. Then with the waking up early added in, he was very tired. He pulled the pen out of his pocket and turned it over, letting out a quiet sigh.

Neal seriously debated just calling Peter and telling him everything. It would feel good to share his worries about Samuel and the possibility of the operation being compromised. But that possibility _was_ very slight. He'd not seen or heard anything to indicate Samuel being around still. Neal rubbed the smooth side of the pen, thinking silently. A small part of him wanted to tell Peter, yes, but the larger part reminded him that in order to do so he would have to confess to several large forgeries, an involvement in several other heists, and one of his aliases. And he didn't know how Peter would react to that.

The cab pulled up in front of the Myers Building, cutting Neal's pondering short as he paid the driver and put away the pen, walking inside.

"Good morning, Mr. Andrews," the young intern said brightly as he walked in. She was filing something behind the welcome desk.

"Good morning, Anna. Is Mr. Mitchell here?"

"Yes, he's in his office," she said, flushing slightly at his smile. "Mr. Myers isn't here yet, though."'

"Thank you," he said kindly, nodding. He walked to where he knew Mitchell's office was and knocked.

"Come in," came the curt voice. He opened the door.

"Good morning, sir."

"Oh, Andrews. It's you. Good morning. Have a seat."

"Alright." Neal sat down across from him and looked at the man expectantly.

"I told my associate a lot about you," Mitchell said. "He was sorry he couldn't make it last night. He's very excited to meet you and have you work with us."

"Thank you, sir, that means a lot to me." Neal smiled slightly.

"He's waiting for us at the coffee shop. We got permission to use a back room for a while." Mitchell stood up and picked up his jacket. "We're supposed to be there as soon as possible."

Neal nodded and stood, noting a strange nervous aspect to Mitchell he hadn't before. It didn't make sense, unless it was just the man being... more himself than normal.

_Or he's scared of his partner_, he thought. A hint of reluctance crept into his mind. Maybe Peter had been right about this being a bad idea. But he couldn't back out now. He'd see it through and deal with the consequences. And if it led to getting the case done more quickly, that was all the better.

"I have to say, Mr. Andrews," Mitchell said as they exited the corporate building, "in spite of all this, you're doing quite well with what you were hired to do."

"Thank you." Neal nodded in acknowledgement. Mitchell fingered the edge of his jacket absently, making Neal wonder what was bothering him. They walked into the coffee shop and entered, Neal once again opening the door for Mitchell.

"It's this way," Mitchell said. Neal followed him closely, looking around warily for something he couldn't place. They rounded a corner into a hallway and Mitchell opened a door.

"After you," the man said, gesturing in. Neal nodded and walked inside.

The room was empty, with only a table and a chair, another door on the opposite wall. Neal let his gaze dart around for a moment before turning to face Mitchell confusedly. The man looked back nervously.

"He was supposed to be here... I'm not quite-" he was interrupted by the lights flicking off. Neal backed up one step and put his hand out, steadying himself on the chair.

"Ah, Mr. Andrews," a voice came from behind him. In a split second Neal recognized it, and _knew_ he should've listened to Peter, should've told him everything in spite of the undesirable nature of the events. "It's so _nice _to see you again." The lights flicked back on and Neal saw the man's face, then a sharp pain came to the back of Neal's head and everything went dark again.


	9. Chapter 9

Peter ran a hand through his hair as he stood in his office, looking out the window. Neal wasn't back yet, but he should've been. Peter had left a message on his phone (since Neal hadn't answered) saying that Hughes wanted everyone back for a meeting at eleven o'clock. Eleven had come and gone, the meeting had been conducted, and Neal still wasn't there.

Guiltily, Peter wondered if it had something to do with how he'd been so harsh on the young man the previous night. There had just been a moment of panic in which he imagined Neal lying dead, stabbed in the back by Mitchell's mysterious partner. The image had frightened him, and it had rebounded in the form of very blunt "_no_"s. Looking back, there probably was a better way he could've handled it. Peter shook his head. To heck with probably, he _definitely_ could've handled it better.

And now Neal was sulking.

Still, even _sulking _Neal came to the office. Still participated in investigations and kept up a bright front. Neal had never intentionally skipped on a meeting before. Peter turned away from the window and sighed.

_It's totally justified,_ he told himself. Especially if something was wrong with Neal. He picked up his phone and dialed.

"I need the location of GPS tracking device 773A," Peter said to the woman on the other line.

"One moment please," she said smoothly. Peter sat down at his desk and swiveled to look out the window again.

After a brief pause the woman came back, reading off a location to him. It was the Myers building. Peter felt confusion growing inside as he thanked her and hung up. He decided to call Neal again. He dialed the ex-con's number and got the voicemail again.

"Caffrey," he growled. "Where are you?" He hung up and dialed the bugged phone number with the same result. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to call June, just to make sure he hadn't gone home and isolated himself.

"Hello?" June's kind voice answered.

"Hello, June. It's Agent Burke."

"Oh, good morning," June said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually. Is Neal there?"

"Neal?" June's voice was puzzled. "No, he left early this morning for work. Why, is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Peter said, trying to sound reassuring. "Thank you, June. If he does call or come to your house, will you call me?"

"Certainly," June said.

"Thanks. Have a good one."

"You, too," she replied. Peter hung up the phone and stood up again, shaking his head. There was no reason why Neal shouldn't be answering either one of his phones. He walked down into the main office space and pulled Jones and Diana aside.

"You two busy?" He asked.

"Aside from the investigation on Mitchell?" Diana asked drily. "Not at all."

"Well, I need you to take a break on that and come with me."

"Where?" Jones asked curiously.

"Over to the Myers Building," Peter said, hoping he wasn't about to feel very stupid for making them take time off the investigation. "I've just got a feeling we need to check over there."

"Does this have something to do with Neal?" Jones asked.

"Yeah," Peter said. "It does."

"I'm fine taking a break," Diana said with a smile, shrugging. "This gets boring after a while."

"You can say that again," Jones agreed with a grin. "I'll get my coat." They walked down to the parking spaces and got into Peter's car.

Not much conversation was made, and they got to the Myers Building quickly. Peter slid the Taurus into a parking space across the street and nodded to Jones and Diana.

"I'll be right back. If I'm wrong about this, we can all go back."

"Okay."

Peter straightened his tie and walked into the building. A young woman was sitting behind the receptionist's desk, looking very bored.

"Excuse me," he said politely, walking over. "I was wondering if Michael Andrews is here?" He wondered if she would even _know _"Mr. Andrews" given how long he'd worked there.

"Mr Andrews?" The blonde girl stifled a giggle and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Of course_ she knew him. "No, he isn't. He was here this morning, but only for a little while. How do you know him?"

"He's my friend, and I heard he was consulting here for a while." The girl seemed to accept this answer and nodded. "Do you know where he might have gone?" Peter asked her.

"No clue." She shook her head. "Like I said, he came in early this morning and left after about ten minutes with Mr. Mitchell."

"I see." Peter had to keep himself from yelling right then and there. "Thank you." He left the building and shook his head, walking toward Diana and Jones. They were both out of the car and leaning against it.

"And the verdict?" Jones asked.

"He isn't there." Peter fought the rising worry. "The GPS has him pinpointed there, though." He shrugged.

"That's... weird," Diana said. "D'you think he forgot it there?"

"Neal doesn't _forget_," Peter said, remembering the one time Neal had tried to use that as an excuse with the anklet. "If he left it, it was on purpose. Or someone left it for him."

"Should we go search for it?" Jones asked.

"I don't know..." Peter hesitated. "I'd hate to ruin the op. But if something _is_ wrong with Neal..."

"I think I could come up with an excuse without jeopardizing anything," Diana said confidently.

"Okay," Peter agreed. They walked up the street a little and to the crosswalk. As they walked across, Diana tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, isn't that..." she pointed to the road a few feet away and Peter followed her gaze. Directly in front of the Myers Building in the road there lay something silver and shiny.

Peter quickly walked to it and picked it up. Jones and Diana came to stand over him. Peter cursed under his breath as he examined the slightly dented GPS pen.

"Caffrey, what have you gotten yourself into?"


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Ten chapters, yay! I know it isn't a lot, but it's my longest __continuous__ story ever. So, I appreciate all your reviews, they always make me smile. Thanks also to those who have added either me or this story to any favorite or alert lists. You guys are awesome! One little thing: I hope my villain-dude works for you guys. He's... him. So, yeah. Let me know._

Neal came out of unconsciousness slowly, and once he was awake he wished to be returned to the blackness he'd left. Whatever they'd hit him with, it had left a big bump. It felt like it might be bleeding, too, but he for some reason he couldn't check.

Oh. His hands were duct taped to the chair he was in, as were his feet. Duct taped very securely, in fact. Of course they were. His captor would know better than to simply cuff him. He'd earned a bit of a reputation in that respect. In spite of his inability to move his limbs, he ran a brief self-analysis. His ribs hurt slightly, and there was obviously his head. Other than that he felt relatively unharmed.

But that wasn't likely to last. Now that he had confirmed that he was _currently_ okay, he began to look around. He was in a small, very dark room. He suspected that the door was behind him from what he could make out, but due to the throbbing in his head he didn't want to turn it to check. There were no windows, no clues to where he was. His mind was rather fogged, but he knew that wherever he was was far away from where he _wanted _to be.

His assumption that the door was behind him turned out to be correct, as it opened rapidly. Instinctively he turned his head quickly toward the sound, and winced as the pain in his head increased. The figure was illuminated only by the light from the hallway, leaving his face darkened. Neal didn't need to see his face to know who it was.

"I'm so glad you're awake Mr. Andrews," Samuel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and hatred as he slammed the door closed. "Or should I say _Neal Caffrey._" He came to stand in front of Neal, flicking on a lamp that made Neal wince. Samuel leaned over toward Neal.

"It seems you're an even bigger _liar_ than I thought." He narrowed his eyes at Neal and stepped back. "Well?" The man demanded. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Neal shrugged (as much as he could being duct taped) and tried to look mildly bored. "Not really." Samuel's eyes flashed and his fist rammed into Neal's left cheekbone. Neal bit the inside of his cheek, his vision starry.

"How about now?" Samuel asked dangerously.

"Nothing _appropriate_." Neal winced involuntarily as the man drew back his fist again, then lowered it with a slight smile.

"I suppose that's only to be expected," Samuel said quietly. "Fine. I'll do all the talking." Samuel leaned against the wall in front of Neal and examined his fingernails casually.

"Mitchell and I have been working together-"

"For about six months, right?" Neal asked, lifting one eyebrow. Samuel came forward, putting his hands on Neal's arms and leaning close to his face.

"If you interrupt me again, Caffrey," the man said, his voice low, "trust me, I will make you regret it." Samuel patted Neal's cheek right where he had before punched him, bringing the pain back. Neal decided that _maybe _Samuel wasn't the best person to tick off. Even in good times he was unstable at best. Neal kept silent this time, watching Samuel's movements.

"Where was I?" Samuel paused thoughtfully, returning to his casual position against the wall. "Oh, yes. We _have _been working together for around six months." Samuel gave him a look similar to one given to a small dog who has fetched a stick. "Good job." He shrugged. "He came to work for Myers right before I quit, and we started a little _side business_ together. But you already know that." Neal didn't respond.

"You're so quiet, Neal," Samuel said with what looked like genuine concern written across his face. "It's so unlike you. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Neal said sarcastically. "Nothing at all." Samuel's expression hardened instantly.

"I don't like your tone."

"I don't like yours." Yeah, so much for not making the guy mad. Samuel put one hand on Neal's shoulder and balled the other into a fist, sinking it into Neal's stomach. Neal coughed as he doubled over, controlling his breathing with an effort.

"I'd suggest you shape up, Neal," Samuel said vehemently. "Or you won't like the consequences." Neal remained bent over slightly, his eyes fixed on the ground. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Neal." Really not wanting any more _consequences_ at this point, Neal grudgingly raised his eyes to meet Samuel's.

"Better," Samuel agreed with a smile. "So Mitchell comes to me two days ago, telling me that Myers has a new financial consultant. I didn't connect the dots until he mentioned how _charming_ you were. Then, of course, I decided to look into you."

Samuel's voice rose slightly. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there _was _no such person as Michael Andrews fitting your description. Not anymore. I dug a little deeper and can you guess what I found?" Neal remained silent. "Go on, guess." Neal still didn't answer.

"I discovered that Michael Andrews was really _you_, Neal Caffrey. And that you were once a pretty good con. That explains why you were able to lie so well to me." Samuel's voice got very loud and angry. "Then I found that you had gone over to the other side. _Working_ for the _Feds_." The man's voice dropped to deadly softness. "Well, your little FBI buddies aren't going to want you around after you're done with what I have planned for you. No one will."

A buzzing noise came from Samuel's pocket and he ruffled Neal's hair playfully. "Got to run, Neal," he said cheerfully. "Sorry to cut our conversation short. Don't worry, though, I'll come back." Samuel flicked off the lamp and left, plunging the room back into darkness.

xxxxx

"He didn't run," Peter said firmly, sitting in Hughes' office, having related all that Neal had told him, including the proposition Mitchell had made. "He wouldn't now. His only reason before was Kate."

"I know," Hughes said.

"Sir, I know he didn't-" Peter paused. "What?" Hughes raised one eyebrow.

"I agree with you, Burke," the directer said. "I don't think Caffrey would run now. I've seen how he's settled in here."

"Oh." Peter looked dumbfounded for a moment.

"The question is," Hughes said, leaning back in his chair. "What are we going to do about it? The tracker is gone, and we have no idea who took him."

"Mitchell, maybe?" Peter asked. "He never showed back up to work after he reportedly left with Neal."

"We have no way of proving it, though," Hughes said.

"I'll find Caffrey, sir," Peter said. "I've done it before. Three times."

"I believe you, Burke," Hughes said. "You can have Jones and Diana."

"Thank you, sir," Peter said. Hughes stood up.

"Just get our consultant back."

"I will." Peter walked out of the office, pointing for Jones and Diana to follow him.

"Are you going to find Caffrey?" Jones asked.

"Yes."

"I'm in," Jones said firmly. Diana nodded in agreement.

"Me too."

"Thanks," Peter said gratefully. "Now, here's what we have to do..."

xxxxx

Neal was alone for much longer that he'd expected to be. He tried not to think about Samuel Myers, but things being as they were, he pretty much failed miserably.

It really had been stupid of him, he decided, not to tell Peter about his real history with the man in the first place But it was too late for that now.

About six months before Peter had ever started chasing him, Neal was going under the alias of Michael Andrews, professional art forger. Kate had been elsewhere at the time.

Samuel Myers had been an arrogant only child, whose father had ordered him to make his own living. Samuel quickly discovered that he didn't like making money the honest way. And so he found "Mr. Andrews." Quickly a partnership was formed, and for several months their it had gone very well. Samuel would acquire the art, Neal would forge a copy, and they would sell both to owners on opposite ends of the world, where they could never meet. Both parties got a cut of the profits and were satisfied until Samuel's violent nature came out.

It had been a normal day. Neal had been working on a forgery when Samuel came back, a gun in one hand and blood on the other. When Neal had asked him what had happened, then gotten upset when Samuel had told him, Samuel exploded. Neal had known he had to get away fast, so he stole Samuel's share of the profits along with his own and left to reunite with Kate.

He'd thought everything was over. Obviously it wasn't. And Samuel was definitely bearing a large grudge. Neal winced at the pain in his stomach as he moved. Yes, a very large one.

The door opened again, and Neal's solitude ended. Samuel came up with an excited expression on his face, a tall, muscled man behind him.

"Okay, Neal Caffrey. You have work to do." The tall man slit the duct tape, dragging Neal out of the chair and cuffing his hands behind him.

"What kind of work?" Neal asked flatly, thinking he probably knew already.

"Oh, you'll see." It was disconcerting to see Samuel so obviously happy. That couldn't bode well for Neal. A very secure blindfold was pulled over his eyes, and he was led roughly through several hallways shoved into another room. The blindfold was pulled off and what met his eyes shocked him.

"Hi, Neal," said a man tied to a chair, a bruise on his forehead. Neal felt sickened.

"Mozzie." Neal's voice was faint. "What are you doing here?"


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for all the feedback! Your reviews are amazing. If I hadn't already finished it, they'd certainly motivate me to write faster. :)_

"We'll give you some time to _talk_," Samuel said, exiting the room. "But we'll be right out here." Neal kept his eyes on his friend, and the second the door was closed he started moving the handcuffs around behind him.

"How did they find you?" Neal asked quietly, moving closer.

"I was in your apartment at June's house." Mozzie's voice was dull.

"June." The sick feeling in Neal's stomach only intensified. "Is she alright?"

"She wasn't home when they came," Mozzie said. Neal gave a troubled nod.

"Do you know why they brought you here?" Neal asked quietly, casting a glance at the door.

"Samuel said something about _motivation_," Mozzie said, spitting the name like a curse. Neal was silent for a moment. It was what he had expected. Very much Samuel's style. "D'you know what they want you to do?"

"Not yet," Neal said. "But I'm guessing it'll be the same thing he had me do before."

"Art forgery, then?"

"Yeah." Neal let out a sigh. "Moz, I'm so sorry. I know this is all my fault, I should've-"

"That's enough chit chat for now." Samuel came walking back in. "We have things to do." He nodded to the tall man, who lifted a large sheet off a pile of stuff Neal hadn't noticed before. An Impressionistic painting was sitting on an easel, next to a blank canvas of the same size. After pulling off the sheet, the man removed Neal's handcuffs. Neal resisted the urge to rub the red skin.

"You'll be reprising your role of my art forger," Samuel said. He patted Neal's shoulder. "Jace-" he nodded to the other man. "Will be in here keeping an eye on you. If he thinks you're dawdling, or trying to plan an escape..." Samuel's mouth lifted in a vampire-like smile. "Well, let's just say your short friend won't be happy." Neal's gaze swept over the supplies he'd been provided. They seemed sufficient.

"I'll be back to check on your progress." Samuel grinned at the room in general. "Good luck!" Samuel breezed out of the room, and the silent guard sat down in an armchair in the corner. Neal gave Mozzie one more glance, trying to convey how sorry he was.

He rolled up his sleeves (vaguely wondering where his suit coat had gone) and picked up a paintbrush. He didn't want to do this. Not now, when the FBI was finally starting to trust him. At least, he hoped they were. He glanced at Mozzie one more time, seeing the fear hidden behind his friend's eyes. He didn't have much choice in the matter, did he?

The room was silent as he got to work, emulating the brush strokes and vivid colors. He went as slow as he could without arousing suspicion. True to his word, Samuel came back in later and stood behind Neal, making him uncomfortable as he looked over Neal's shoulder.

"Nice," the man said approvingly. He slugged him in the arm with a grin. "Isn't it nice to work together again?"

"It's wonderful," Neal said, keeping some of the sarcasm from his tone. In his current mood, Samuel appeared not to notice.

"I'm glad you agree." He patted Mozzie's shoulder, making the older man flinch uncomfortably. "It'd be such a shame for your friend here otherwise." Neal clenched his teeth as Samuel left the room, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With his back to the guard, who was staring into space boredly (maybe _art_ wasn't his thing?) Neal whispered to Mozzie.

"I'll get us out of here." He didn't know how he would do it. But he would find a way.

xxxxx

Jones, Diana, and Peter were all sitting around a computer screen in the white surveillance van, looking at a screen tracking Neal's movements for the last twenty-four hours. He'd gone to the coffee shop once last night, then to June's house, then back to the coffee shop, and then to the FBI office (Peter was trying not to think about that conversation). Then he'd gone back to June's house and stayed there all night before leaving to the Myers building.

As the young intern had told him, Neal had only been there for about ten minutes before going back to the coffee shop. Then the tracking data got weird. The GPS pen showed him leaving the coffee shop through the back entrance, then he started moving faster and then it showed him coming to a complete stop in front of the Myers Building. Peter knew that was when the pen had been dropped (or thrown) into the street.

"Maybe he was in a car," Diana suggested. "That would explain why he started moving faster."

"And why the pen ended up in the street." Peter nodded. "I considered that. No cars were reported stolen in the area around that time, though, and Neal doesn't have a car."

"Well, that just means whoever took him used their own car," Jones said with a shrug. Peter flashed him a grateful look. Neither of them had questioned his surety that Neal had, in fact, been taken away against his will.

"Have we gotten a warrant for the security cam at the coffee shop yet?" Peter asked. They'd figured that if that was where Mitchell had conducted his meetings before, it was likely he'd done it there with Neal, too.

"Not yet," Diana said. "But we should within a few hours." Peter nodded. These were the times he almost (read: _almost_) regretted having to do things the legal way. Neal's _questionable_ methods were so much quicker. But, Peter reminded himself, it always paid to have the law on one's side.

"I'm gonna get us some coffee," Jones said. Diana nodded.

"I'll help you." The two agents left the room. Just as the door closed behind them, Neal's phone rang.

"Burke," he said.

"Hello, Peter," June's voice said on the other end.

"June." Peter felt anxiety pull at his mind. "Did Neal call you?"

"No," June said, her voice a mixture of disappointment and worry. "I was hoping he would've called _you_ by now. But that isn't what I needed." She paused. "Is Mozzie there with you?

"Mozzie?" Peter asked, confused. "Why would he be here?"

"I just thought he might've come to help..." June let out a breath. "He'd been here all day, wearing a hole in my floor. I had to go on an errand and we were going to play Parcheesi when I got back to help him left, but he was gone. It isn't like him to just up and leave like that, so I thought I'd call."

"I see." Peter sighed. Just what he needed. "Have you tried calling him?"

"Of course. Several times, actually. It's gone straight to voicemail every time."

Peter didn't like where this was going. "Just keep trying to get ahold of him," he told her. "But I'll look into it."

"Thank you, Peter. Goodbye."

"Bye." Peter hung up and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his eyes tiredly. This wasn't good. Mozzie wasn't connected to Neal's alias in any way. Nor was June. So if the man _had _been taken, it meant that whoever was responsible knew who Neal really was. Peter cursed under his breath just as Diana and Jones walked back in.

"You okay, boss?" Diana asked, tilting her head to one side slightly in a way that reminded Peter very much of Neal. "You look like someone just punched you."

"Yeah," Peter shook his head. "That's about how I feel, too."

"What happened?" Jones asked, setting the coffee down.

Peter sighed. "This might have just gotten a bit more complicated."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: We have a surprise guest appearance in this chapter! I wasn't expecting it, but BAM! there she way. Anyway, you should recognize her. Or not. But I don't own her. Thanks for all your thoughtful reviews, thanks to Wondo for catching a continuity error. Have fun!_

"How's your head?" Neal asked Mozzie as quietly as he could manage, pacing the tiny room silently. The guard had _finally_ drifted off.

"I'll live, no thanks to you," Mozzie whispered sarcastically, touching the bump with his newly-freed hands.

"Moz-"

"It's fine." Mozzie brushed it away. "Just... get us out of here."

"I'm trying," Neal said quietly. "But I don't even know where _here _is."

"Me neither," Mozzie muttered, shaking his head. "I was out cold."

"Oh, Neal," a singsong voice came. Samuel walked through the door looking very pleased with himself, followed by Mitchell and two more guards. "I have something to tell-" his gaze fell on Mozzie's unbound hands and the sleeping security guard, and his expression turned deadly.

"Jace!" Samuel whacked him on the side of the head. "How _dare_ you?" The guard blinked in a panic, waking up rapidly.

"Mr. Myers, I'm sorry, it was-" his apology was cut off. Samuel whipped a hand gun out of his jacket and shot the guard in the chest with deadly accuracy. The large man toppled over and Neal looked away with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Mozzie moved back further, terrified out of his mind but trying to hide it.

"Still _squeamish_ about necessary means, I see, Neal?" Samuel's voice was still furious with a mocking edge.

"That was _not _necessary," Neal said flatly.

"That is for me to decide," the man snapped. His gaze swung to face Mitchell, who was fidgeting and looking at the ceiling.

"You too, Mitchell?" Samuel demanded. "I thought you were in this."

"I didn't expect _this_," Mitchell said, all his former servility replaced by hot anger. "Not _murder_."

"Then you're done here." Samuel's eyes flashed with a cold anger and he shot Mitchell the same way. Neal felt sickened, especially as the two guards just looked on as if it was nothing. Whatever those men had done, these were _lives. _Samuel waved the gun around madly, his gaze darting between the four of them. "Anyone else have a problem with my methods?" The other guards shook their heads impassively. Neal shot Mozzie a worried glance, remaining silent.

"Ames," Samuel said calmly, putting the gun away. The thinner, more intelligent-looking guard stepped forward. Samuel whispered something in his ear and stepped back. "You know what to do."

He turned to Neal and Mozzie, clapping his hands together. "And it looks like we're going to have to take a little trip thanks to these two _imbeciles_." He motioned to the other guard, who pulled what was obviously a taser from his pocket, moving toward Neal and Mozzie. Instinctively, Neal stepped in front of his friend. Neal was unable to stop the black device from being pressed into his neck and a shock ran through his body. He crumpled to the ground.

xxxxx

Peter was back in his FBI office, feeling very anxious as he turned another page in a useless file that had been written up.

"Agent Burke," Jones said, knocking and then walking in. "NYPD called. They have something you'll want to see."

"What happened?" Peter asked. Jones looked very serious.

"They got a call about shouting and gunfire. But... I'll explain on the way." Peter grabbed his coat quickly, his stomach sinking rapidly. This couldn't be good.

Ten minutes later, Peter was feeling worse, if it was even possible. They got out of the car and walked to the front of an old building.

"Agent Burke?" A brown-haired woman in a coat, her breath fogging slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"My consultant is... Neal Caffrey."

The woman's eyes widened. "Neal Caffery the _suspect_?" Peter nodded tightly and the woman let out a breath. "That was unexpected." She shook her head slightly. "My _consultant_ isn't here yet. Goodness knows what _he's _doing."

"Can we see the crime scene?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Well..." The woman raised an eyebrow and then smiled slightly. "For you? Of course."

"Thanks," Peter said gratefully. "You remember Jones?"

"Yep," she said, giving him a nod. "Nice to see you again."

"And yourself."

The three of them made their way through the mass of people always around crime scenes and were flagged down just before they entered the room.

"Detective Beckett!" A blonde man came up. "Found this in a dumpster about a block away." He handed her a small gun after she put gloves on quickly.

"Hm... It appears to be the right size. Nice work, Ryan. Get it to ballistics." She handed it back to the man and they continued on to the actual crime scene.

"Don't touch anything," Beckett warned them. Peter managed a small smile.

"We won't," he promised. "Thanks for letting us in, Kate."

"I owed you," she said with a shrug. They walked into the room and Peter winced slightly at the blood spattered across the wall and floor. He was unused to such things after so long with the _nonviolent _crimes.

"Our first vic is Don Mitchell," Beckett said. "The second we haven't gotten a name on yet. Lanie- I mean, our ME, will get here soon." She shrugged. "There's not much else. No prints except for these two guys' and Neal Caffrey's."

She hesitated, then gave Peter a questioning look. "Do you think he did it?"

"No." Peter's answer was firm. "There is no way he would do this. Ever. And don't you find it a little suspicious that in a building _this _old, there are only prints from three people in this room?"

"I did think it was a little odd," Beckett admitted. "Usually my consultant is better with that sort of thinking. He's just that way." Her eyes softened a little when she spoke about him. Peter didn't notice any of this, as he was examining the two bodies from where he stood, his thoughts whirling.

"Neither of these is our mystery guy," he said to Jones. His attention snapped back to Beckett. "The gun was found less than a _block_ away?"

"Yes." Beckett nodded, unsure of where he was going.'

"Even _if _Neal had done this," he said, then his eyes flashed, "which he _didn't_, he would never get rid of evidence so carelessly. He's the _epitome_ of neat."

"I see," Beckett said, nodding slowly. "Well, this certainly won't be an open and shut case, Agent Burke. I'll make sure it's thoroughly investigated."

"Thank you," Peter said, relieved. Several people came through the door. A woman who was probably the ME "Lanie" started examining the bodies and a hispanic-looking man approached Detective Beckett.

"The Captain needs to talk to you," he said.

"Thanks, Esposito," Beckett said. She nodded to Peter and Jones with a small grin. "Well, I'd suggest you make yourselves scare before Castle shows up if you want to stay sane. He's going to have a field day with this."

"We will," Peter said, smiling. "Thanks again."

"Don't mention it." Beckett followed Esposito out, talking in a quiet voice with him. Peter and Jones remained for a moment more before leaving.

"This doesn't add up at all," Peter said as they got back into the car.

"Not at all," Jones agreed. "I know Neal didn't do it, but who would go through this much trouble to frame him like this?" _It's happened before,_ Peter thought, remembering the necklace incident.

"One more unanswered question," Peter said, heaving a sigh.

"It seems like there are a lot of those around lately," Jones said.

"Tell me about it."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: And we've reached unlucky chapter thirteen... Sigh. Well, one bright shining ray... tomorrow is WHITE COLLAR DAY! (Rhyme unintended.) AH, so excited! A plea in advance: Please, no spoilers in the reviews. I won't be watching the episode till Wednesday evening, as painful as that is. Ouch. Anyway, enjoy! _

Neal decided he was _very_ tired of the _"get knocked out and wake up somewhere with new injuries" _routine. He opened his eyes with a slight gasp of pain as he shifted, and immediately looked around for Mozzie. His friend was slumped over against the wall of the van, duct taped the same way Neal was.

"Moz," he whispered, his voice full of worry. It was hard to tell in the dim space, but the man looked even more pale than usual. Neal leaned closer, trying to see his friend's face. "Moz, wake up."

"Ugh..." Mozzie straightened slowly, wincing, then cursed. "My glasses are gone. That's great. Just another part of this _wonderful_ experience. That and watching two guys get _shot_." Mozzie's voice rose slightly in mixed fear and upset. Neal let out a breath.

"Moz. It'll be okay."

"Really, Neal? Because no part of this gives _any _indication of _being okay_." Mozzie winced again.

"Did... are you okay?" Neal asked concernedly.

"I think I hit my head on something," Mozzie muttered. "Or they did it for me." Blinking, Mozzie turned toward Neal. "Yeah, I'm _okay_, considering."

"Good," Neal said, his expression slightly pained as he tried to shift so that he wasn't putting as much pressure on his lower ribs and stomach.

"Are _you_?" Mozzie asked Neal, eyeing him doubtfully.

"Fine," Neal said through gritted teeth. Mozzie let out a derisive snort.

"Oh, _fine_, are you?" His tone was mocking. "That's probably the biggest lie I've heard you tell this week- no, the one about you _being able to handle this case _was the biggest. This is a close second."

Neal knew this was Mozzie's way of showing concern, and he gave him a slightly forced smile. "Thanks Moz."

"Hmph."

"I wonder where we're going now," Neal murmured, casting his gaze about. They appeared to be in the back of a very small moving truck, the only light filtering in through the gaps above the doors.

"Beats me," Mozzie said. "All I know is I would rather be elsewhere."

"Working on it," Neal said.

"Yeah, yeah." Mozzie shrugged slightly. It was silent for a moment and Neal listened.

"It doesn't sound like a freeway." His eyes ran up and down the van doors. "It's quiet... maybe a back road?" He started moving his arms to loosen the duct tape around them. "I think I have a plan."

"Okay, lay it on me."

xxxxx

"This is insane," Mozzie muttered a few moments later. "We're going to die. I'd rather not die."

"Would you prefer staying _here_?" Neal asked pointedly. "This is all I've got."

"Good point," Mozzie allowed grudgingly, rubbing his arms where the duct tape had come off. He watched Neal picking the lock of the van from the inside. Mozzie hadn't even thought it was _possible_, but Neal seemed to be managing it. After a few minutes a satisfying _click_ sounded from the door and Neal let out a breath.

"Okay, that's it. Are you ready?" He asked Mozzie.

"No," Mozzie replied nervously. "But just open it." Neal nodded as they both moved into position.

"Okay, on three. One-" Mozzie tensed. "Two." _Going to die. Going to die._ Neal lifted the sliding door and cold wind rushed in. "Three!" Mozzie threw himself from the truck and was quickly whipped toward the ground. He hit the ground and rolled slightly, absorbing the impact. Beside him he heard a curse. He shoved himself to his feet stumbled to Neal.

"Neal, what happened?" Mozzie demanded, crouching awkwardly next to him. Neal's face was white and tense.

"I- my leg. I think I broke it." Neal attempted to move and Mozzie could see him bite back a cry of pain.

"Okay, let me-" he was cut off by the squealing of brakes as the drivers realized what had happened. Neal grabbed Mozzie's arm with one hand, straining with the effort. His face was panicked and pale and deadly serious.

"Go."

"I can't leave you-"

"Go!" It was shouted roughly as Neal shook Mozzie's arm, his breath ragged. "Tell Peter! You can help more that way." Neal released Mozzie and shoved him up. Mozzie stumbled to his feet and hesitated for one more moment. The car started to back up and a shot rang out over Mozzie's head.

"Get out of here _now_!" Neal yelled to him, his voice cracking with pain and fear. Full of adrenaline and regret and worry, Mozzie ran blindly toward the lights of the nearest building. Even as the distance increased more shots got close to hitting him, then finally a curse echoed out as they realized he was out of their reach. Mozzie stopped for a moment, panting heavily.

Across the flat, rough grass between him and the road, a stifled cry echoed from Neal as Mozzie squinted, cursing his inability to see.

_"Tell Peter. You can help more that way." _Those words were the only thing that kept him standing still. Watching, sickened, as he knew his best friend was being knocked out again and thrown back into a van. His breathing labored, Mozzie made his way to the nearest buildings and found a 24-hour convenience store.

"Do you have... a phone I can use?" Mozzie asked the young woman behind the desk. She looked frightened by his sudden appearance.

"Are you hurt? Should I call the police?"

"...fine," Mozzie insisted. "I just need... phone."

"Okay." The girl's voice was fearful as she handed over a pink cell phone. Mozzie dialed a number that he was now _grateful _he'd been forced to memorize against his will. Trembling with shock, worry, and lingering adrenaline, Mozzie leaned against the counter as a voice answered.

_"Burke."_

Mozzie took in a breath. "Suit, it's me."

xxxxx

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Peter asked his wife for about the fourth time in their conversation.

"Peter, I'll be _fine_," Elizabeth insisted. "When I imagine what could be happening to Neal..." She paused. "I just think it's good that you're staying to keep looking. Just make sure you rest _sometime_," she reminded him.

"I will," he promised absently. "I love you."

"Love you, too," she replied with a smile in her voice. "Talk to you later."

"Bye, El," he said, hanging up. He let out the yawn he'd been holding back during their conversation and walked down to get more coffee. It was strange to see the FBI offices so empty. He'd finally forced Jones and Diana to go home and get some rest.

The coffee pot was blessedly full. He suspected Diana of filling it before she'd left. Pouring himself a cup, Peter took a sip. He jumped slightly as his phone rang. The number wasn't familiar, and he felt a rush of mixed worry and hope.

"Burke," he answered.

_"Suit, it's me."_ It took a moment for Peter to recognize the exhausted voice.

"Mozzie?"

_"Regrettably." _He sounded stressed.

"Where _are_ you?" Peter asked. "June's been worried sick."

_"She has?"_ Mozzie asked, panic creeping into his voice. _"Oh. Well. I'm... not sure where- let me ask." _There was a pause then Mozzie gave him an address. Peter was already almost to his car, the cup of coffee left on the counter forgotten.

"I'm coming to get you," Peter said, getting into his Taurus.

Mozzie's breathing quickened over the line. _"I'm not going to a hospital, Suit. Or that bureaucratic office of yours. Especially while Neal is in trouble."_

"I'll take you straight to June's," Peter promised. Then Mozzie's words registered. "Wait. Why would you _need _a hospital? Were you... with Neal?"

_"Yes,"_ came the quiet response.

Peter's eyes widened. "Well, where is he?"

_"Myers has him."_

"Myers? How is that possible? He's been at work the whole time," Peter said, confused.

_"Not that one. The son. Samuel. Neal sort of... messed things up for him a while back. He held a grudge," _Mozzie said flatly.

"I see," Peter said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "I'll be there soon. You can explain the rest then."

_"Okay," _Mozzie said. The next part came hesitantly, _"Thanks, Suit."_

"Don't mention it," Peter said. He hung up and debated calling Jones, but decided to wait until he had the rest of the story. And he'd basically told Mozzie he wouldn't involve the _bureaucracy. _He drove in silence, more anxious than ever for Neal.

"'bout time," Mozzie said as Peter walked quickly into the convenience store a short while later. He looked even worse than he'd sounded, sitting slightly hunched over in a chair.

"Sorry," Peter said. He saw the bruise on Mozzie's face that contrasted with his very pale skin, and his irregular breathing. He was definitely in some degree of shock.

"Let's get you to June," he said quietly. He looked up to the young cashier, who appeared to have been the one to supply the chair and phone. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," she said. "I hope everything's okay."

"Me too," Peter muttered as he helped Mozzie up. The lack of protest offered at the contact only increased Peter's concern. They walked to the Taurus and both men got inside. Mozzie immediately leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

"Mozzie," Peter said as he started driving down the dark stretch of road. "What happened?"

"We jumped out of a moving van."

"You _what_?" Peter swerved slightly and narrowly missed a stop sign. Mozzie's eyes flew open as he put a hand on the dashboard to steady himself. "Sorry," Peter muttered. "Just... start at the beginning, okay?"

"Okay..." Mozzie said hesitantly. He related how Samuel's men had taken him from June's, and used threats against him to motivate Neal to do what they wanted him to. Peter got steadily angrier as the story went on. _Sick, twisted- _

"Then a guard screwed up..." The short man paused. "Samuel shot him. Mitchell, too, because apparently his loose moral standards stopped short of murder."

"Wait, you said _Samuel_ shot them both?" Peter asked suddenly.

"Yes," Mozzie said slowly with a searching look. "Why?"

"We found their bodies," Peter said darkly. "And someone went through a lot of trouble to frame Neal for it."

"Neal?" Mozzie's tone was incredulous. His expression darkened. "Figures."

"So then what happened?" Peter prompted, seeing the man wasn't going to continue on his own.

"They tased us both and we woke up in the truck." His voice quieted. "Neal picked the lock and we jumped out. He... he landed badly, and his leg might've broken." He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, muffling his voice slightly. "I didn't want to leave him. But he made me. He said to just get you." Mozzie shook his head, letting out a massive sigh.

"Well, you did the right thing. Now that I know what's going on, it'll be much easier."

"Hm." Mozzie sat up as they pulled up to June's house. "I can go from here, thanks." Peter nodded understandingly.

"Good luck," he said.

"You, too," Mozzie replied quietly. He gave him a questioning look. "You... you will _find_ him, won't you?"

"I will," Peter said with a quiet conviction. Mozzie nodded, apparently not questioning this. Peter pulled back his car slightly after Mozzie got out.

He watched as the man walked with a slight limp toward the door and ring the doorbell. A light flicked on inside and June appeared in the doorway quickly. Peter couldn't hear what was said, but the relief on June's face was plain as she gave Mozzie a quick hug and pulled him inside. Before she closed the door she waved to Peter. He read the words on her lips.

"_Thank you_."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Alright, I watched it. My friend was here. So we watched it. And... wow. Yep, pretty amazing. Definitely still White Collar. I won't say anymore, just that you won't regret watching it. *grin* Anyway. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews, and I hope this chapter is up to par. Again, my villain begs critiquing, and I'd love to hear any other advice you have. Or things you loved! :) Either way, reviews make me happy._

There was no gradual return to consciousness for Neal this time. He was jolted awake by something large and made of glass shattering near his head. A shard connected with his face, leaving a stinging cut behind.

He attempted to reach up and touch it, and discovered in the process that his hands were duct taped again. This time they were behind his back, and as he was _lying _on his back, it was doubly uncomfortable.

"I know you're awake, Neal," Samuel's voice said from above him. Hesitantly, Neal opened his eyes. From a few feet away in the dingy room, Samuel took a swig from a full bottle of beer (it'd been an empty one that had been thrown at Neal). The man's green eyes flashed with mixed fury, disappointment, and something _predatory_.

Neal attempted to move into a less vulnerable position and a huge wave of pain came from his right leg. Swallowing a cry, Neal suddenly had a flash of memory.

_Jumping. Breaking. Shouting_.

"Mozzie," he whispered. Samuel let out a cruel chuckle and stepped closer to Neal, kicking his injured leg with a toe. Neal bit down on the inside of his cheek as his vision swam.

"Your little friend?" Samuel asked, shaking his head with falsified remorse. "I'm afraid Ames caught up with him while he was _attempting _to run, and, well..." He shrugged, miming shooting himself in the head.

Unexpected tears sprang to Neal's eyes and he blinked them back angrily.

"Liar," he whispered.

"I'm afraid not," his captor said, the false regret still there. "Such a shame, too. He was such a _funny_ little fellow."

Neal blinked several times silently, though he knew that couldn't make it go away. Despair flooded into him, white and hot and painful. Mozzie, his brilliant friend. Mozzie, who'd been there for him for almost longer than he could remember. Mozzie, dead.

_I'm sorry_. It was all his fault. If he'd just _listened_ to Mozzie, and to Peter...

_Peter_. He felt a wave of realization crash over him. Without Mozzie carrying the message of where they were and what had happened... As good as Peter was, it was unlikely he'd find Neal in time.

"Aw, don't be so sad," Samuel said. He nodded and a pair of rough hands hoisted Neal to his feet. "I'm afraid that you, Neal, should be much more concerned about yourself." Before Neal could respond to that decidedly _ominous _statement, Samuel's fist connected with his jaw.

"You see," Samuel elaborated softly, examining his fist thoughtfully as Neal spat out blood, "You tried to run away. Quite the cowardly thing to do, I must say. And if there's one thing I hate, it's cowards. That, and double-crossers." A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Samuel's face.

"What do you know, Neal? You fitright into _both _of those."

xxxxx

Peter ran a hand through his hair tiredly. It had been a day since Mozzie had shown up, and he was at a loss for what to do next. They'd put out an APB on Neal _and _Samuel that had so far turned up nothing.

Not that that would stop him. He would not give up on Neal.

"Hey," Diana said. "I just got a call from a hospital in Brooklyn. Someone matching Neal's description is there. From what the doctor told me, I'm pretty sure it's him."

"Let's go," Peter said quickly. He grabbed his coat with a surge of hope.

"Peter, wait..." Diana laid a hand on his arm, her eyes serious. "The doctor, he said Neal's pretty bad."

"_How _bad?" Peter asked quietly, worry tightening in his stomach.

"He's in a coma."

Peter didn't want to worry anyone yet- or get their hopes up. Not till he _knew_ it was really Neal. So he didn't call anyone. He and Diana got out of the Taurus, breath fogging in the still-cool afternoon air. With a feeling of trepidation, they entered the hospital.

"Peter Burke, FBI," Peter said, showing his badge to the young woman at the desk. Her tag proclaimed her name as _Miranda_. "We're here about the patient in room 179."

"Oh, you mean Nick?" Miranda inquired curiously.

"Nick?" Peter was confused.

"Well, we didn't _know_ his real name, but some of the interns decided he looked like a Nick and it sort of stuck."

Peter stifled an unexpected smile, remembering Neal's favorite alias. "I see. D'you think you could take us there?"

"Of course," she said, putting a sign up on the desk and standing. As they followed her, she gave them a curious look. "He's hurt pretty bad," she ventured. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He got involved with the wrong people during some undercover work," Peter said.

"Undercover?" Miranda inquired, brown eyes widening. "Is he an agent?"

"He's a consultant," Peter said. They stopped in front of the room and Peter gritted his teeth. Miranda opened the door and they stepped into the small, sterile hospital room.

Peter and Diana breathed in sharply at the same time.

"Oh, Neal." Peter took another step toward Neal. It _was_ definitely him.

"Neal?" Miranda asked.

"Neal Caffrey," Diana said when Peter didn't reply. His eyes raked over the young man. His right leg was in a cast, his left hand was heavily bandaged. Bruises were evident all over.

"We didn't find any internal injuries," Miranda told them quietly. "A little surprising, actually. He's got a fractured tibia, several bruised or cracked ribs, and two sprained fingers." She looked at the unconscious man silently for a moment. "And as you can see there's a lot of bruising."

"Yeah." Peter smoothed a piece of the now-flattened black hair away from Neal's pale face.

"I'm just glad you found him," the nurse said gently.

"Me too," Peter murmured. Diana laid a hand on his arm.

"Should I call Jones and tell him?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "That would be good." He glanced back at Neal and cursed under his breath. "I just want the man responsible for this behind bars."

"We'll get him, Boss." Diana left the room to make the call and Miranda gave Peter a kind look.

"Can I get you a chair?"

"If you don't mind," Peter consented gratefully. A few minutes later he was sitting in a fairly comfortable brown chair and observing Neal silently, the steady beeping of machinery echoing in his ears.

"Jones took off the APB on Neal," Diana said, coming back in. "No word on Samuel yet."

"Okay. I'm going to call a couple people. They'll want to know." Peter stood and Diana took his place. He called June first, and it ended up that Elizabeth and Mozzie were both there as well. They vowed to come as soon as humanly possible and Peter smiled gently.

The next call he wasn't so excited for. He dialed the number of Hughes' personal phone and the older man answered.

_"Hughes."_

"Sir, it's Burke."

_"How is he?"_ Hughes asked immediately.

"How is... who?"

_"Caffrey. Jones told me you found him. So how is he?"_ The director repeated.

"He's... alive." Peter's voice was matter-of-fact.

_"I see. But still unconscious?"_

"Yes."

Hughes cursed under his breath.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Peter asked, confused.

_"Burke... We should be arresting Caffrey on murder charges. It's only because he's been pronounced unsafe to move that I haven't already had to."_ He let out a breath. _"If he was at least awake we could get something from him on Myers."_

Peter nodded, sickened. He knew Neal hadn't done it. Hughes even knew it. But legally they'd have to arrest him unless they found Myers. _Proof_ to combat the overwhelming evidence against Neal.

"I understand, sir. I'll tell you when he's awake."

_"Good. We'll keep on Myers."_

"Thank you. Goodbye, sir." Peter hung up the phone and walked back into Neal's hospital room.

Within half an hour, Neal's visitor limit was maxed. June, Elizabeth, himself, Diana. And, most surprisingly, Mozzie. The man stood with the others at his friend's bed, fidgeting. His expression shifted quickly between discomfort, relief, and continued worry.

"When will he wake up?" Mozzie asked quietly, looking to Peter.

"They said... hopefully within a day."

Mozzie nodded silently. June laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. She'd brought a bag of fresh clothing for Neal when he awoke and was watching Neal with grandmotherly worry.

"Good job, Peter," Elizabeth murmured to him as she leaned her head against his shoulder gently.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he said quietly. "Not by a long shot."

Eventually Peter was left alone with Neal. Mozzie had only been able to bear the hospital for so long, and June had taken him home. Diana had decided she would be of more use helping Jones with the search for Myers. Elizabeth had remained the longest, sitting in a worried silence with Peter until she almost drifted off and he insisted that she return home to rest.

So Peter sat back in his original seat across from Neal and watched the ex-con's chest flutter softly.

"For the sake of everyone involved here, Neal, I hope you wake up quickly."


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I hope this chapter is everything it needs to be. It's certainly longer. And Neal is still in a lot of pain, since I don't see him liking heavy medication once he was awake to choose, but he hides it pretty well. I love reviews! :)_

Peter woke up early the next morning and found himself uncomfortably stretched out over the foot of Neal's hospital bed. With a small groan he lifted himself up and looked over his partner. Neal was still unconscious. Peter stood up and stretched, his joints popping.

He decided to go and freshen up in the restrooms down the hall. He glanced over Neal one more time before walking out the door slowly. He yawned, rubbing his back where he _knew_ it would be sore later.

A few minutes later he was splashing cool water on his face when he heard the sounds of loud crashing and yelling from outside. It was muted through the restroom doors, but he could hear clearly that something was going wrong. _Neal_. It was coming from that direction, and it was likely that it was his friend.

_Please be okay_. He ran out of the restroom and toward Neal's room. Several nurses had gone in.

"Mr. Caffrey, please calm down! You're going to tear something!" An unfamiliar voice pleaded. Peter rushed through the door, out of breath. Neal was awake.

"It's my fault." Neal repeated the words over and over as he was sitting in bed with his head clutched in his hands.

"Agent Burke!" Miranda, the nurse from earlier, was standing next to Neal with two hands on his shoulder. "He woke up and got like this. He's not in his right mind." A monitor on Neal's heart rate showed it was dangerously high. "Can't you do something?"

"I'll try." Peter stepped quickly to Neal's side and grabbed his friend's uninjured arm. "Neal. Neal, look at me."

Neal's head shot up from his hands and his gaze fixed on Peter, blue eyes looking vulnerable and pained and frantic. "Peter." They filled with tears and Neal rested his head on Peter's shoulder, holding him tightly. His shoulders shook with restrained sobs and words came sporadically between them. "'s my fault- should've... been careful."

"Neal, calm down." Peter brushed the nurses away and put one of his hands on Neal's back, the other in his dark hair. "What was your fault?" The nurses filtered out when they saw Neal was okay and decided he needed a private moment.

The words came out in a rush as Neal still stayed in his position against Peter's shoulder. "We... jumped out, and I wasn't careful enough. Now it's too late, I can't do anything about it-"

Peter interrupted Neal's rant. "Neal." He rubbed circles on his partner's back. "Breathe for a sec." Neal did so, albeit in a manner very close to hyperventilation.

"Now. What was your fault?"

"Mozzie, we jumped out of the truck and I fell wrong and they caught me and knocked me out-" Neal's voice caught, still filled with slight hysteria but more forcibly even now. "And they shot him. He's dead, and it's my fault." Peter was filled with increased hatred for Myers.

"Neal, Mozzie isn't dead. He's not even really hurt. Just worried about you," Peter said firmly.

Neal stopped, sitting up and looking at Peter with a confused expression. "What do you mean? Of course he's dead, they told me he was."

"No. He was here last night with June."

"Mozzie... was here?" Neal asked, confused. "In the hospital?"

"He was. Like I said, he's worried about you." Peter's voice was quiet and reassuring. "You're safe now." Relief filled his friend's eyes and he let out a breath, an enormous weight seeming to leave his shoulders.

"Everyone's okay?" Neal asked, tilting his head to one side.

"Everyone's okay. You're the only one that got _really_ hurt. Everything's going to be okay." Peter shifted, not wanting to mention the murder charges yet. But of course Neal noticed, even in his drugged state.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Well..."

"Peter, I can handle it. Just tell me."

"Alright," Peter surrendered. He began to relate the current situation and Neal was silent, listening thoughtfully. With a troubled nod, he leaned back against the wall.

"He's clever," Neal said with a slightly troubled expression. "But we'll catch him."

"Correction. _I'll _catch him. I don't know if you noticed, but you have a fractured tibia and a whole list of other injuries. You just got out of a _coma_ for goodness' sake. You're not going anywhere."

"At least keep me updated," Neal pleaded when he saw the determination in Peter's eyes. "I can figure out where he'll be, Peter, you know I can. It's my freedom on the line." Peter nodded slowly.

"I can't promise I'll be allowed to, but I'll try," he said.

"Thank you." Neal sighed. He rubbed his eyes tiredly then brightened. "Are those my clothes?"

"They are," Peter said, nodding at the bag June had brought.

"Hm. Well, can you call a nurse back in here? I want to know if I'm allowed to clean up. Then... maybe you could call June and El and Moz?" Neal's voice was questioning and hesitant.

"I will, right away. They're all going to be very happy."

"Thank you," Neal said quietly.

"You're welcome," Peter said sincerely, smiling.

xxxxx

"Neal!" Elizabeth was the first to arrive, and she enveloped Neal in a huge hug the second she stepped through the hospital door with some multi-colored balloons. He winced as she squeezed his bruises and she saw his expression, stepping back from the bed with an apologetic look.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"It's fine," Neal reassured her, straightening the light gray button-down shirt he was wearing, having been allowed to clean up but afterwards being confined back to his bed. He smiled at her. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Elizabeth said. "I'm so glad you're okay." Neal nodded. He was glad as well.

"We're all glad," Peter said, pulling Elizabeth closer to him with one arm. Neal watched them with a quiet smile.

"Oh, Neal," June's warm voice came through the doorway, full of relief and affection. She gave him a gentle, sort of sideways hug, as if she was used to dealing with injuries. Neal waited for Mozzie to trail through the door, but he didn't. June saw his questioning expression.

"Mozzie is at my house," she explained gently. "He was going to come, but it's... difficult for him. He wanted me to tell you _not to let any of the_ _government-employed witch doctors drug you_." She sounded to be quoting his words exactly, with similar inflections. Neal nodded with a sigh. He'd hoped to see Mozzie, but he understood the man's hesitance. And he knew that the warning was Mozzie's way of showing he cared.

"Thanks, June," Neal said tiredly. He smiled at her. The four of them conversed quietly for a few minutes before Peter's phone rang.

"Burke," he said, answering. "Really? What?" He paused, eyes widening. Neal leaned forward slightly but couldn't hear the voice on the other end.

Peter continued to converse with the mystery person. "Yeah, he's awake. Okay. Okay. Yeah, keep an eye on them." He smiled slightly. "She is? Alright, well, just stay there. I'll be there in a few. Bye."

"Who was it?" Elizabeth asked her husband curiously.

"Jones." Peter looked very relieved. "NYPD found Myers, finally. He was freaking out outside of some store. I'm supposed to get over there right away."

"I'm coming with you," Neal said, beginning to shift.

"No. Sorry, not happening." Peter shook his head emphatically.

"But... Peter." Neal gave him a puppy-dog look, eyes wide and pleading. "You could get me out, you know you could."

"Maybe I could," Peter acknowledged. "But I'm not _going_ to. You need rest."

"I could be helpful," Neal said in a last-ditch effort.

"Not this time." Peter gave him a sympathetic shrug.

"Hmph." Neal leaned back again. "Did they tell you how long I _will_ be here?"

"A couple days, give or take," Peter said. "Mostly it depends on how good of a patient you are. If you do what they want they'll let you go sooner. So _be good_."

Neal pouted. "I'm always good."

Peter rolled his eyes, obviously restraining a grin. "Sure you are. Well, I've got to go. I'll come back when I'm done." Peter nodded to June and Elizabeth. "Keep an eye on him, he's an escape artist."

"I heard that!" Neal called with mock-anger as Peter walked out of the room.

"Sorry, Neal," Elizabeth said, patting his shoulder very gently. "But you do need to rest."

"I know," Neal said with a shrug. "I just don't like feeling useless."

"You're far from useless, dear," June reassured him. She checked her watch and smiled at Neal. "I should probably go back to Mozzie. He's still very on edge, I hate to leave him alone."

"It sounds like he's your dog or something," Neal said teasingly.

"No," June said with a light laugh. "He's just... Mozzie."

"Yep." Neal grinned. Elizabeth gave June a friendly smile.

"Bye, June," she said. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright, Elizabeth. Goodbye. Goodbye, Neal, be careful."

"I will," Neal said. "Thank you." The stately woman left the room and Elizabeth took a seat on the hospital bed next to Neal.

"So."

"So." Neal echoed her word and grinned at her.

"Do you need to talk about it? You're putting up a pretty good front here, but I can tell you're not doing so hot." Elizabeth laid one hand on top of his, her dark eyes concerned and almost motherly. Neal shrugged slightly, letting out a breath.

"Perceptive as ever," he said, remembering when she'd called his bluff before Myers had ever taken him. It seemed like that had been years ago, when really it had been only about eight days earlier.

Elizabeth gave an acknowledging smile and waited. Neal shifted so that he was putting as little pressure on the many areas that were filled with stabbing pain. "There isn't much to talk about," he said nonchalantly. "I was stupid and didn't listen and he caught me. He wanted me to forge a painting, and he knows how to get people to do what he wants them to."

"What do you mean?" She asked, curious.

"He figures out what's important to you and uses it against you," Neal said slowly, brushing away memories. "That's why he took Mozzie. Luckily for me I didn't get to finish the painting, or even really get started, or Peter would have something to _actually_ arrest me for." He paused. "Then you know what happened. Mozzie got away then Samuel got rid of me and I ended up here. The rest is history."

"But are you _okay_?" Elizabeth pressed, her expression questioning.

"Okay?" Neal repeated the word quietly. Was he? After everything, he wasn't sure. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "But I will be, now that I'm here."

"That's all I needed to know," Elizabeth said gently. She kept talking to him until he drifted off, apparently exhausted by all the effort of the morning. Smiling softly, Elizabeth brushed a piece of his hair off his forehead and walked out of the room.

xxxxx

"Hey, Jones," Peter greeted. "Where is he?"

"Down in one of their interrogation rooms. Detective Beckett and her writer friend are already in there, I couldn't stop them." Jones looked apologetic but Peter laughed slightly.

"Both of them? By now they've probably already got him confessing." Peter walked over to the interrogation room and stood at the two-way glass. Richard Castle, mystery writer extraordinaire turned police _consultant_, was there with Kate Beckett, and he was currently the one talking.

"Samuel," Castle said with a tilt of his head. "You seem like an intelligent man. It must have taken a lot of work to cover all this up, I must say. It's almost as good as what I would write."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Samuel said with a careless shrug.

"Sure you don't," Castle said obligingly. "But I think you deserve credit for it anyway. Right now you're letting that guy have it all. Caffrey, right? He's getting all the hype for your work, just like everyone else."

"You're crazy." Samuel shook his head.

"I don't think so," Beckett said. Peter leaned against the glass silently, watching with amusement. "I think Castle is right. Even when you worked for your dad, he got all the credit, didn't he? You worked on everything, too, and it all ended up _his idea_."

Castle jumped in. "And that started to bother you, didn't it? So that's why you decided to pull a little scheme all your own. Take his money, get back at him for all the times he ignored you. All the times he didn't even acknowledge that you existed."

"You're wrong," Samuel said, but even through the glass Peter could see his composure was starting to break.

"No, we're right," Beckett said. "Then after you had Mr. Mitchell roped into your scheme as well, you decided to up it a notch and you kidnapped Neal Caffrey and framed him for those murders. Well, it worked. And you know what? It was only a fluke that he even got caught. Everyone knows about it now and you're not even getting recognized as part of it."

Castle leaned back in his chair. "I wonder if he ever really was," the man commented lazily. "His story seems pretty contrived to me. I bet he's making it all up and he was never even involved."

"Of course I was involved!" Samuel stood up, waving his cuffed hands. "It was my idea! _Mine_! I was the one who stole the money and I was the one who killed those guys and I was the one who fixed everything afterward and you think you're going to pretend I didn't? No! This time I'm going to get the credit."

"Thank you, Mr. Myers." Beckett raised an eyebrow and stood up. Samuel sat down, breathing heavily with a _not-totally-sane_ glint in his eyes. Castle grinned and followed Beckett's actions and they came to join Peter in the observation room.

"Nicely done," Peter said, nodding to Beckett and Castle. He shook hands with the latter.

"Thanks," Beckett said. Castle grinned, looking pleased with himself.

"We did do well, didn't we?" He said. The Hispanic man from before- Esposito- opened the door.

"You wanted us?" He stepped inside, along with the blonde guy.

"Yep," Beckett said. "I need to talk to Agent Burke and Agent Jones for a while. Would you two book this guy for me?"

"Sure," Esposito said. He grinned at his companion. "C'mon, Ryan, you can do the fingerprinting this time."

"Alright," Ryan said. He followed Esposito back out and the four remaining in the observation room watched briefly as the two men took Samuel Myers elsewhere.

"So your consultant friend is in the hospital?" Castle asked Peter.

"He is," Peter confirmed with a nod. "How did _you_ know?"

"He's Castle, he has his ways," Beckett said, rolling her eyes amusedly.

"I see." Peter grinned.

"How _is_ he?" Beckett asked.

"Okay," Peter said with a shrug, covering his worry. "He's beat up pretty bad, but now that we have a confession from Myers it'll be easier for him. Thanks to you two."

"It was our pleasure," Castle said with a large smile. He checked his watch. "Well, I have a lunch date with my daughter today. I think I'll be going." Castle gave them a mock-salute and exited the room.

"Everything should be smoother from here on out," Beckett said to Peter.

"I'm very happy to hear that," Peter replied. Jones nodded.

"It'll be a nice change," he agreed. They walked out of the conference room and Beckett looked at a whiteboard covered with pictures, including one of Neal. Peter restrained an unexpected laugh. It was the mugshot Neal'd always claimed he hated.

"I appreciate all your help, Kate," Peter said. "Thanks for not letting this one fall through the cracks."

"You're welcome," Beckett said with a small smile.

"Talk to you next time." Peter and Jones both shook her hand again. They walked out of the precinct and headed back toward the hospital. It felt good to finally have some positive news to give to Neal.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: So, here we go! Last chapter. It's a little short, but I hope you guys all enjoy it. This is the longest fic I've ever written. I appreciate all your reviews, they've been awesome! Here's to Season Two!_

Nearly a week later later, Neal was _finally_ going to be released from the hospital. He slowly got dressed early that morning. As he dropped his suit leg over his stiff white cast, he smiled at the drawings that had ended up on it. Elizabeth had drawn a heart with _get well soon_ inside it, June simply had signed the words. Mozzie still hadn't come to the hospital, not that Neal expected him to. Diana and Jones had each drawn a smiley face.

Peter, however, had spent probably the most time with him, and had gone all out in moments of boredom. There were several stick figures saying various well-wishes, and a random doodle of a pineapple. Neal felt a warm feeling in his chest. Having all these people that cared about him was new. And rather than feeling smothered, as he'd expected, he found that he actually liked it.

He picked up his crutches with distaste and used them to get out of the bathroom.

"Morning, Mr. Caffrey," Miranda said. She was already in the room.

"Good morning, Miranda. And I thought I told you to call me Neal." Neal grinned as she blushed. She shrugged.

"Fine, then. Morning, Neal." She stepped forward and tied his tie for him. It had become routine for the morning. Most everything else, Neal could manage with one hand. But trying to tie a tie was... frustrating, to say the least. So Miranda helped him. She'd actually spent a lot of her breaks talking to him. At first, he'd thought it was pity, but she convinced him otherwise, and they had a lot of interesting conversations.

"Thanks," he said. "For everything." She looked up, her warm brown eyes softening as they met his blue ones. She traced the lingering bruise along his cheekbone with one gentle finger.

"I was glad to help," she said quietly. They stood that way for a moment, then they leaned toward one another at the same time and ended up kissing. It was different than any kiss Neal had ever experienced before, warm and sweet and content. She pulled back and gave him a girlish smile.

"That was nice," she murmured, brushing a piece of his hair softly into place.

"It was," Neal agreed with a happy smile. Miranda's grin turned mischievous.

"From what Agent Burke has said, I don't know if I can trust you to be careful with yourself. Maybe I should come check up on you." She gave him a questioning, slightly teasing look. "Maybe this Saturday?"

"Hmm..." Neal pretended to look contemplative for a moment. "That sounds like it would be a good idea. But," he said, raising one eyebrow with mock-gravity. "I think the only time I won't be busy is dinner."

"Hmm..." Miranda mimicked his thoughtful expression. "That could work. I like Italian food."

"Perfect. So do I." Neal grinned.

"Sounds like an _appointment_," she said teasingly. She put a piece of paper into his suit pocket. "Meet me over here at six, okay? And you'd _better_ be using those crutches."

"Yes, Nurse," Neal said obediently. She laughed lightly. Peter opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Ready to go, Neal?" He asked with a smile. "Elizabeth is down in the car waiting. We're taking you over to June's."

"I'm ready," Neal said, smiling at Miranda. Peter took his small bag of what June had brought for him and Neal hobbled out the door after him.

"See you Saturday," Miranda called after him.

"Alright," Neal replied over his shoulder. They made it all the way to the car before Peter lost the battle with his curiosity.

"What was that about?" He asked with a grin as he helped Neal into the passenger seat. Elizabeth had insisted he sit there since he'd have more leg room. He leaned against the seat gingerly.

"What was _what_ about?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"It's nothing," Neal said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"You like her, don't you?" Peter laughed as he started the car. "And you're going on a _date_."

"Who?" Elizabeth pressed, looking amused. "That nurse?" Neal nodded, smiling slightly. Elizabeth bounced on her seat and beamed at him. "That's great, Neal. She seems really nice." Her eyes widened. "It's not tonight, is it?"

"No," Neal said, his cheeks cooling back to normal. "It's on Saturday."

"Good," Elizabeth said with a sigh of relief. She gave him a pointed look. "Tonight you have a date with _us_."

"I do?" Neal asked.

"Yep," Peter said, grinning. "Dinner."

"I'm making a roast," Elizabeth said cheerfully, then gave him a firm look. "And you _will_ be there." She blinked thoughtfully. "I might have bought too big of one, though." She brightened. "You could invite Mozzie and June to come."

Peter raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"It would be fun!" Elizabeth said, smiling at Peter. He nodded, quickly giving in to her.

"Alright, we can invite them, too. But you don't know if Mozzie will come."

"He might," Neal offered amusedly. "He seems pretty okay with you two, considering you're part of _the bureaucracy._"

"Great," Elizabeth said, clapping her hands together in her lap. They pulled up to June's house and Elizabeth touched his shoulder gently. "Good to have you back, Neal." Peter nodded his agreement.

"It's good to be back," Neal said, smiling. June came out to meet them, and Neal could see Mozzie skulking in the doorway, looking happy in a Mozzie-ish way. June gave him another of her gentle hugs as he got out, and she carried his bag for him. Neal nodded to Peter and Elizabeth.

"Thanks," he said. Contentment filled him. He was no longer being accused of murder, Samuel and his remaining accomplice were going to be put away for quite some time, he had a date on Saturday and a dinner tonight, and he was surrounded by friends.

Life was looking pretty good.


End file.
